My New, Messed Up Family
by Ranyalassi
Summary: Amelia (OC) lost her family to vampires. But maybe an old mechanic with a library and a drinking problem, a perpetually squabbling mother and daughter, and a set of trigger happy brothers can become her new family. AU where the apocalypse never happened, set in what would be late season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all, this is my first fanfiction. It's not quite what I'm used to writing, so please give any feedback you can! :)**

**The basic premise behind this story is that Sam never killed Lilith, and the apocalypse never happened. It's canon through some of Season 4, but I haven't figured out where the break happened. Since the apocalypse never happened, Bobby isn't in a wheelchair, Ellen and Jo are still alive, and San never went into the cage. Mainly I just wanted to write something where all the characters were relatively happy because they obviously don't get enough of that in the show. Mild language, mentions of abuse, and some blood/gore. Dean/Jo because I thought they could be a cute couple, Bobby/Ellen might come in eventually.**

**I hope to post a new chapter every few days, the way it looks at the moment it's going to be a pretty long story but I'll try to keep up with it as homework and life allows.**

**EDIT: Just so you know, this is NOT season 8 canon-Amelia. :) Totally new OC.**

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She faded from pain to pain. Nightmares, horrible images in her mind, to nightmares, horrible images played out before her waking eyes. Blood. Screams. Begging. She could barely think anymore. There was only pain. And sometimes a voice. A weak voice, that called to her.

"Amy," it said, "come on, stay with me, Aim. Don't go, don't give in. It will be all right. Come on Aim."

She trusted the voice, trusted its owner. But she couldn't obey. She didn't have the strength or the will. Again she drifted off. When she came back, she didn't hear the voice anymore. Nothing. She winced, and forced her eyes open. In the dim shadows, bodies dangled by their wrists from chains, feet barely scraping the floor. Her family, some of them. Her mother, brother, sister-in-law. She had to guess at her mother, though, the corpse was so bloodied and mutilated that she could not be sure. The stench slammed into her, all of a sudden, and she dry heaved. Pain lanced up her arms. Her shoulder had been dislocated a while ago, from her whole weight hanging by her arm.

"Paul," she grunted, and stared at her brother. "Paul."

No response came from the beaten body. Slowly, she closed her eyes, and drifted off into the pain again. A single tear rolled down her face, rinsing away blood and sweat and dirt in a tiny track.

After eternities, another voice echoed into her exhausted mind. She tried to grasp the words, but they slipped away. Her brain had gone fuzzy. But the voice went on and on, shouting sometimes. Then she felt a hand on her face. Coming back into herself suddenly, she wrenched away, eyes flying open. The last adrenaline in her battered body flooded into her blood.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey," the voice said.

In the dim light, she saw a young man standing in front of her, plaid dressed, hand frozen in the air where it had touched her face. He stared at her, and smiled reassuringly.

"I'm here to help, alright?" he said gently. "I'll get you down now."

"They'll," she coughed, and tried to take a breath. "They'll kill... you," she managed to get out.

He smirked, and raised his other hand to waggle the silver handgun he held. "Love to see them try, honey."

He stood on tiptoe, and reached above her head, fumbling at the chains. After a few moments, she heard a click, and the pressure suddenly released from her wrists. Her legs buckled underneath her, and she would have fallen, except for the arm suddenly wrapped around her.

"Let's get moving, I don't want you here if they get back. Can you walk?"

"Paul," she croaked, and by sheer force of will, got her legs under her again and lunged forward stumbling.

In seconds, she made her way to her brother. "Come on, Paul," she whispered, reaching up to his face. She took his head in her good hand, lifted it from his chest. "Paul, we can get out now." She cradled his limp head in her weak hand, and it flopped around. "Paul."

She felt rather than heard the man behind her. "We have to leave."

Her hand shook too much to feel her brother's pulse. "I won't leave him."

A hand gripped her shoulder. "He's gone, I already checked."

"No," she sobbed, and tried to wipe a trickle of dried blood from his face. "No, he can't be gone, he can't be." Now her whole body started to shake.

He took her hands in his, and tried to guide her away from the body, but she tore away with a scream. "No, they hurt him enough already, I won't let them hurt him, won't let them hurt him."

Without a word, suddenly the man stepped forward, and swept her off her feet.

"No!" she struggled, but she had no strength against his strong arms. With a sob, she tried to roll out, but he gripped her too tightly.

"Hey now, I'm on your side, I'm getting you out," he tried to reassure her, as he carried her out. "I'm Dean, ok? What's your name?"

Her whole body shook, and her shoulder screamed in pain every time he took a step. "Amelia," she told him. She just wanted it to be over, just wanted to be finished with this horrible pain, and the pain of remembering. Oh God, why did she have to remember that. She couldn't stop the sob. "They killed everyone, just ripped them apart."

"Dean!" The voice echoed to her from somewhere.

"I'm here Sam, I got the only survivor," the man carrying her called out.

Only survivor. She stopped struggling. Stopped caring, almost. Except for one thing. Not herself, or her life. Only blood would answer blood. And as she drifted off, she made herself a promise.


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke to bright white lights and a fuzzy head, lying on her back. Hospital? She thought. But soon enough, thoughts drifted up through the swamp that was her mind, and she remembered. Amelia barely managed to choke down her scream. But tears leaked out her eyes. Angry at herself, she raised an arm to dash them away. Then the scream burst out. Her shoulder, oh GOD, her shoulder. The sling didn't immobilize it quite enough. Even the tiny movement allowed her caused almost unimaginable pain. She heard running footsteps, and the sound of a door opening.

"Are you alright? What's the matter?" A concerned face came into her vision. A nurse.

"My," she gritted through the pain. "My shoulder. Moved it. Hurts."

She closed her eyes, and surrendered to the pain.

"I'll put you on a higher dose of pain killer, ok? Try not to move your shoulder. It was dislocated for quite some time, so there was a lot of swelling. It will take a while to heal, but there shouldn't be any permanent damage. The doctor will be in shortly to talk with you, now that you're awake. Other than your shoulder how are you feeling? Any other pain?"

Amelia tried to concentrate on any other part of her body but her shoulder, and failed. "No, I think I'm ok."

"Alright, I'll go tell the doctor you're awake. See you in a little bit."

She left Amelia alone with her pain. A few minutes later, she heard voices outside her door, and soon the door opened.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Hotch," a voice announced, and a pleasant-looking woman stepped into Amelia's view. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she grunted.

"That's to be expected. Your shoulder was very swollen when you were brought to us, so it will not heal as quickly as dislocations usually do. It will have to be immobilized for a few weeks. Other than that, you sustained no serious injuries. Some minor lacerations and some blood loss are the worst of it. We have you on an IV for the pain and antibiotics. Do you recall any head trauma? We're not too worried about a concussion, but it's always a possibility in accidents."

_Accidents?_ _What kind of accident does she think I had?_

"No, I didn't hit my head."

"Good, just making sure. With no concussion, the only thing keeping you here is the antibiotic regimen but that can be switched to pills when you leave. I'd like to keep you until tomorrow just to make sure things are healing properly, but if you really want to you can probably leave sometime today. Now, with your permission, I'd like to do a quick examination, blood pressure, pupil response and such, since that you're awake."

"Sure, whatever," Amelia told him, and submitted to being poked and prodded. Soon enough, she had finished, but she didn't leave.

"There are two men outside," she finally told Amelia. "They're from the FBI, and they seem very eager to talk to you about the accident. I tried sending them away, but they insisted. You don't have to talk with them if you don't want to, I will send them away."

The only word she heard was "accident."

"Sure, send them in," she mumbled.

The doctor opened the door. "Alright, she'll see you."

Two men entered, suit and tie, and came to stand by her bedside.

"Hello, we're agents Hammett and Ulrich, we're from the FBI." They held out ID badges, and smiled down at her reassuringly.

She heard the door close behind the doctor.

"Who the hell are you?" She grunted, trying very hard to keep her eyes from drifting shut from the painkillers.

"FBI, we're-"

She cut them off. "Cut the crap. Dean, wasn't it? I seem to remember you wearing plaid."

They exchanged a glance. After a few seconds, the tall one shrugged, and Dean looked back to her.

"Alright, we're not FBI, but we're here to help. We figured that something nasty was going down here, and came in just in time to save you. Now, we need to know what we're up against so we can kill these sons of bitches. What can you tell us about who attacked you?"

Her eyes drifted shut. "They're," she struggled for the words, "they're not..."

"They're not human?" Dean suggested.

Amelia opened her eyes again. "Wait, what?"

"Just tell us what happened," the other one said.

"Um. Well, we were in the house, my family and I. We were back for a few days. I was upstairs. I heard some noises, then screaming, so I went downstairs. And," she swallowed. "There was blood, everywhere. They had torn my niece apart." She started shaking. "Just ripped her to shreds."

"Did you see them?"

Amelia nodded, and tried to get a hold on herself. "Three. Two women and a guy. Red hair. Blue eyes. Bright blue. Really pale, dead looking sort of. They were _eating_ Marie and my father. They knocked me out then, and I woke up in that warehouse hanging from the ceiling with everyone else."

"Just three?"

She nodded, and wiped her nose on the sheet with her good hand.

"Did you notice anything unusual about them? Anything at all?"

She stared up at them blankly. "They ATE my family. Other than that?" She laughed in scorn. "Didn't really notice. ARE they human?"

"Thank you for your help," the tall one smiled at her briefly, ignoring her question. "We'll stop them."

"Now, obviously you can't just say this to the police if they question you, they'll think you're crazy," Dean told her. "We brought you in, said that we had found you on the highway. Probably best if you don't remember any of it."

They turned to leave.

"Wait," she said, lifting herself off the bed, and they stopped.

"Remember something else?"

"You're going to kill them?" she asked.

They looked at each other again.

"Yes," Dean said.

"Good," she relaxed. "I'm going to help."

"Wait," the tall one said, "what?"

"They killed my brother, my family," she explained. "I want to kill them."

"That's not a good idea," Dean told her. "These things are dangerous."

"Yea, I kind of gathered that," she said, bitterly.

"You're still injured," the other one argued.

"I can still fight," she snapped, and to prove it, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and hopped to the ground. For a moment she wasn't sure if her drug hazed body would respond, but she kept her feet under her somehow. She took the two steps to stand directly in front of Dean, pale, dazed, and in pain, but completely determined.

"I need to do this," she told him. "I have to do this."

He stared at her for a few seconds, brow furrowed, but then shrugged. "Fine if you want to get yourself killed be my guest, but you have to do exactly as we say."

"Done."

"Dean," the other one started, but Dean cut him off with a look.

"Stay here until tomorrow morning, then check yourself out. We'll figure out what we're up against."

She studied him. "You won't kill these things without me?"

He looked back at her, then finally, "no."

"Shake." She stuck her good arm out.

Dean sighed, "really? Pinkie promises next?" But he took her hand and gave it a shake. "We're at the Road King hotel, room 239. Bright and early."

"I'll be there," she told him.

Then they left, and she crawled back into her bed, her legs shaking from the effort she expended. She hardly cared. Revenge would be hers. Sleep took her softly, and the drugs muffled her dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning at 6:30, Amelia knocked at the hotel door. She wore clothes a policeman had brought her from her house. Jeans, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, running shoes. Her left arm was in a sling, but other than that, she betrayed no sign of injury. Just the pinch of her lips.

After a pause, the door opened to a bleary looking Dean, who motioned her in. She took a breath and stepped into the motel room. Clothes lay strewn about. Plaid, mainly. Paper and a computer sat at the table in front of the tall one, who looked more tired than Dean. Empty coffee cups surrounded him.

She nodded to him.

"Well, I think we have something of an idea of what we're up against," he said.

Dean sipped some coffee. "Any idea where to get ash or hawthorn in this town?"

"What?" she raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you were going to kill these things, not build a freaking deck."

They looked at each other. Their silent conversation were really starting to annoy her.

"Alright, what the hell is going on? What are they? How is ash going to help?"

"Sit down," Dean motioned to the table.

She thought about refusing, but she saw the tired look in his eyes. Amelia sat.

"Amelia, right? I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam."

Sam gave her a quick smile, and returned to his computer.

"We're hunters. We hunt the things that go bump in the night."

He let her process that for a few moments.

"The creatures that attacked your family are apparently a type of vampire called a strigoi."

The look on her face suggested that she was an inch away from walking out the door.

"Sam?"

Sam spun the computer so she could see a web page, some vampire blog.

"Red hair, blue eyes. Two hearts, apparently. Undead, most of the lore says they're witches in life brought back in death by other witches."

"Witches," she echoed.

"Most of the lore says they can be killed like any other vampires, which means beheading," Dean took over. "But some also says they can be killed by stabbing with ash or hawthorn and then burning the bodies at a crossroads, and it never hurts to have a couple options with witches involved."

She looked from one to the other, then back again. "You're not joking."

"We're dead serious, you really don't want to mess around with witches," Dean said, innocently.

"So," she rubbed her head. "You're telling me vampires and witches are real. What else? Ghosts, werewolves, demons?"

Sam sighed. "Yes."

Amelia laughed, humorlessly. "And you kill them."

"If they're hurting people," Dean said.

"Well, it explains the eating part, I'll give you that," she sighed. "Fine, whatever. Just as long as I get to help kill the... strogi?"

"Strigoi," corrected Sam, "Eastern European origin, looks like."

"There's a cabinet store in town that carries a lot of different woods, there might be some ash or hawthorn there," she suggested. "Other than that, there's parks. I honestly don't have any idea what ash or hawthorn even look like."

Dean nodded. "Alright, we'll check out the wood, Sammy keep researching and let us know if you find anything new."

Sam nodded, already absorbed in his computer again.

Dean pulled on a leather jacket, and walked out of the motel, Amelia trailing behind him.

"You took it pretty well," he told her. "Usually takes people longer to accept the truth."

"I saw them eat my family," she said, quietly, and that seemed to settle it.

Dean walked to his car, an old black muscle car, and unlocked it. She hopped in the passenger side. It was definitely a guy's car. She almost gagged at the thick smell of old pizza and unwashed socks. Wrappers from a burger joint were strewn on the floor, with newspaper clippings and a few shell casings. Amelia swallowed. What had she gotten herself into.

The engine roared to life, and Amelia could have sworn Dean's fond smile was directed toward the steering wheel. Some sort of heavy metal blared from the speakers, but he turned the volume down.

"Alright, where to?"

She gave him directions to the hardware store, but other than that didn't say a word. When the pulled up, he hopped out of the car, and went in. She didn't feel like following. He emerged empty handed a few minutes later.

"No luck," he told her as he sat back down. "You said there's ash at a park?"

"There might be," she shrugged. "I'm not very good with trees."

"Well, we'll see, which way?"

Again, she gave him directions, and she climbed out with him this time.

He gave the small park a once over, and nodded. "Yep, that's ash all right." Dean headed for the trunk.

"How are you going to-" He pulled out a shiny axe out of the trunk.

"Oh."

He smiled at her. "Be right back."

He walked to the tree, and hacked off a few decent sized branches. After taking off some of the smaller twigs, he walked back to the car and tossed the branches and axe in the back seat.

"Awesome, there's our ash," he started the car up again. "Now we just have to track down the sunsabitches and we can gank 'em."

"Yay," Amelia volunteered.

"So shouldn't you be with family or something?" Dean asked, as he drove. "Aunts or uncles or friends or something? Isn't anyone worried about you?"

She looked out the window. "No aunts or uncles, my family is all dead now. Some neighbors are probably freaking out over the crime rate rising and lowering property values. That's about it."

"I am sorry," he said, staring straight ahead. "About your family, I mean. I'm sorry I couldn't save them."

"Yea," she said, quietly, and it seemed like there was nothing else to say.

Sam still sat at the computer when they returned. He nibbled on a sad looking muffin.

"We found some ash," Dean announced, brandishing the sticks.

"It looks like our best bet is still machetes," he told them as they entered. "Hard to beat beheading for killing things. But it won't hurt."

"Let's get tracking. When did you last see them?" Dean asked Amelia.

She had to think. "I'm not really sure. It was a while before you showed up, though. They stayed pretty close in the beginning, but then they started to leave for a while."

"So they're on the move," Dean thought out loud. "They had food, they were relatively safe, why are they moving?"

Sam shrugged. "We spooked them, maybe?"

"Could be," Dean considered it.

"I think our best bet is going back to the warehouse," Sam said. "See if they've come back, or wait for them to show. We can always try tracking them from the warehouse if nothing else."

Dean nodded. "Sounds good."

Sam stood, and stretched. He really was tall. "Will you be alright with going back there?"

Amelia shrugged.

"Awesome," Dean grunted. He had been whittling away at his sticks, and now had sharp points on each. "Here, kid," he tossed her one. She caught it clumsily with her one hand.

"You won't be any good with a machete one handed," he told her. "But you have a chance with stabbing them. Go for the heart or chest. Or head."

She swung it back and forth experimentally, and nodded without a word.

"Let's get going, then."

They loaded back into the car, Amelia hopped in the back without a word, and Sam settled in the passenger seat.

"We'll grab our machetes at the warehouse. Sam, here's a stake."

"Thanks," he tucked it inside his jacket.

"Now inside," Dean started lecturing her, "stick close to us, don't go off by yourself, whatever you do. Try and stay quiet. And don't be a hero. We have experience with this kind of shit. We can handle it. I know you want to kill these things, but it would be nice if you didn't get us killed in the deal."

Amelia nodded.

"Alright then, here we are."

Sam headed for the trunk, and pulled out two dangerous looking machetes, tossing one to his brother, who had the ash stake tucked inside his own jacket.

Amelia climbed out, wincing as she joggled her shoulder, clutching her own stake in her good arm.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked her.

She gave him a withering look, and he sighed.

"Stick close to me," Dean told her again, and led the way in.


	4. Chapter 4

**So I realized last night that since the apocalypse never happened, Dean would still be wearing the Samulet. That probably made me happier than it by all rights should, so expect it to be mentioned in upcoming chapters. Enjoy the new chapter! :)**

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The smell brought everything back. Must, oil, old iron. The odor punched her in the nose, and she remembered every pain she had suffered. She remembered Paul's glazed eyes. She remembered the blood pooling around her father. Or rather, the pieces of him they had brought from the house. Amelia tried to take even breaths as the images assaulted her.

"This isn't a good idea Dean," Sam argued, observing Amelia's distress.

She pushed the memories back and gripped her stake tighter. "I'm fine," she spat through clenched teeth.

Dean looked back at her. She stared at him wordlessly. He frowned, but then turned and kept walking, Amelia trailing behind him. Sam huffed, and followed.

Silently, Dean led the way back to the place where they had imprisoned Amelia and her family. With every step, terror pounded at her. She had been there for days, bleeding, listening to the screams as the creatures devoured the others. She bit down on her lip, hard, as they rounded the corner.

Then she saw the bodies. Tattered almost beyond recognition, but she could still recognize her brother's face, though half of his lower body seemed to be missing. Her stomach lurched, and she crumpled to her knees fighting to keep her breakfast down.

"They must be pissed," Dean muttered. "Savaged the bodies in retaliation?"

Sam shrugged. "Does it really matter? Let's just find them."

Dean crouched down in front of Amelia, who couldn't seem to look away from her brother's battered body.

"Hey, we have to keep moving, keep looking. You're with me. Sam, we're splitting up. They have to be close," he looked at her. "If you can't do this, it's ok."

Amelia took a breath, of musty, dank, oh-so-familiar air that nearly made her lose her breakfast after all, and stood, jaw clenched.

"Alright, let's go."

Sam shot his brother a look, but moved off quietly.

"Stick behind me, shout out if you see anything."

He led the way, machete held close to his body, swiveling his head back and forth. He kept to the shadows, listening and looking for any sign of the vampires. Amelia crept behind him, nerves keyed up, peering into the dusty shadows, gripping her ash stake so tight she started to lose feeling in her hand. Then something, someone, knocked her over from behind. She cried out as she fell to the hard cement floor. Dean spun, already swinging the machete.

"C'mere you bastard!" he yelled.

The strigoi crouched on top of Amelia, fangs bared, blue eyes glowing in the darkness, hair tumbling everywhere, and leaped. Dean's machete caught it in the upper arm, hacking through the bone, and the arm fell to the ground.

The creature shrieked, but it's momentum carried it into Dean, who fell to the floor. Still screaming, it ran away into the shadows. Dean jumped up, and sprinted after it, machete brandished. But he stopped and glanced back.

Amelia had rolled to a sitting position, cradling her shoulder, and staring at the severed arm in sick fascination.

"Come on, we have to stick together. They're hunting us. We have to find Sam." He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

Dean helped her to her feet, and gave her a reassuring pat on her good shoulder. "Stay sharp."

Then he moved off along the blood trail, machete held at the ready. She stayed in his shadow, holding her breath, and trying to hold herself together. Just a little bit longer, to get her revenge on the monsters for taking her brother away. So when Dean was sideways tackled by a flying creature, she didn't lose her cool for a second.

Amelia spun, because she knew there would be one coming up behind her. She leveled her stake, just at heart height, and the strigoi skewered itself on it. Amelia smiled as it's snarling face sagged, and the blue light died in it's eyes, within inches of her face. It was the armless bitch.

"That's for my brother bitch," she hissed, and wrenched the stake out of it's chest.

She turned, just in time to be met by a growling, bloody face. The male strigoi grabbed the stake, hissed, and wrenched it out of her grasp.

"You killed her," it snarled, and it grabbed her bad shoulder, pressing hard.

Amelia gasped in pain, and tried to struggle away. But the deathly cold hand just gripped harder.

"You killed her, you stupid little mortal bitch," it's face contorted with rage, forcing Amelia to her knees. He pressed harder. Her shoulder exploded in pain, as her arm once again slid out of the socket. She screamed, again and again.

"You killed my brother, you son of a bitch!" she screamed at it, tears in her eyes from the pain.

"And he tasted delicious," the strigoi smiled.

"HEY!"

The strigoi spun away from her.

Sam stood on the other side of the room, machete in hand. "Done taunting girls? Come and get me!"

"Oh, I'm enjoying myself too much. I think Mary is open, though."

Sam spun around, just in time to be sidelined by the third red haired monster.

"Sam!" Dean blearily woke up, clutched his side, and tried to get to his feet.

"You hunters are getting slow. I'll be with you in a moment."

The male strigoi smiled again, and turned back to Amelia. In spite of the excruciating pain, she was smiling. A bloody teeth snarl, but technically still a smile. Because she again had the stick in her hand. She sprang from the floor, plunging the point into the thing's stomach and up into its heart. Her hand was instantly coated in the blood pouring out.

It's eyes grew huge, and it coughed, once, twice, spitting blood into her face.

"Die you sonabitch!" She screamed, and tried to wrench the stake out of the monster's bleeding stomach. But she couldn't get it out one handed, and her other arm dangled useless by her side.

Amelia stepped to the side as the strigoi crumpled lifeless to the ground.

By that time, Dean had found his feet, and raced towards his brother, his ash stake out for stabbing.

The monster had Sam trapped on the ground, fangs going for his throat. Only Sam's hands, pressing up on the thing's neck and forcing it away kept it from ripping his life out. Sam grunted, his hand started to slip, and the fangs came closer. Spit dropped into his face.

Then Dean's stake stabbed through the strigoi's chest, and it rolled off of Sam, dead. He lay gasping for a few seconds, then grabbed Dean's hand, and let his brother help him up. They nodded to each other, allowing a small smile, and looked down at the dead monster. It's mouth gaped open, snarling even in death.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Sam rubbed his shoulder with a wince. "I suppose we should burn them at a crossroads just to be safe."

"Yea," Dean held his side, "I guess. Start loading the bodies, I'll get the girl."

Sam reached down and slung the thin body over his shoulder with a grunt, an expression of complete disgust on his face.

Amelia knelt on the floor, left arm slumped in her lap lifelessly, staring blankly at the corpses of the two monsters she had slain.

"Hey," Dean called out, but she didn't respond. He knelt beside her, gently touched her good shoulder. "Hey there."

After a few seconds, her eyes started roaming around, and finally settled on his face.

"Your shoulder is out again," he said, quietly.

She nodded, vaguely.

"It'll start swelling again pretty quick. I can put it back in, but it'll hurt like hell."

Amelia swallowed, then nodded once.

"Ok, I'll do it quick as I can."

He shifted behind her, and placed one arm across the front of her shoulder, anchoring his other arm on her back.

"On three," he told her. "One, two," she braced herself, "three."

The abused socket screamed in pain as the bone end suddenly grated back in. She managed to keep from fainting, but she did finally lose her breakfast. Dean held her from falling into the pile of her own puke, and helped her to her feet yet again.

She spat once or twice, to clear her mouth. "Sam ok?" her voice grated from all the screaming she had done.

"Yea, he's fine." He handed her a silver flask.

"What's this?"

"Holy water."

She stared at him blankly.

"For demons, but it'll clear your mouth out."

Dean wandered to one of the bodies, and poked it with a toe. "Nice job gankin' em. You did pretty well."

Amelia shrugged, and took a swig of the tepid water, swishing out her mouth. "The first one just ran into me, all I had to do was hold the stick."

"Still, you kept your head. You have blood on your face, you know."

He sighed, and grabbed the dead male strigoi. "Going to get blood everywhere," he complained, and hoisted it up.

She trailed after him out to the car, scrubbing her face absently with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Sam had a few sheets of plastic laid out and was bundling up the first corpse.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Sam asked her.

Amelia shrugged, and studied the strigoi again, in the sunlight for the first time. Their skin seemed almost transparent. She could almost see the bones underneath the pale flesh.

"I'll get the third one," Dean dumped the body and went back into the building.

Amelia sagged against the car, staring blankly at the bodies Sam was wrapping up.

"We'll take you back to the hospital," Sam told her, "just as soon as we've got the strigoi loaded."

She shook her head. "Dean put my shoulder back in," she told him. "No point in going to the hospital."

"If you're sure, your house then," he grunted, as he lifted the body into the trunk.

Her house. The blood would still be there. Probably would be a crime scene. Amelia shuddered. She could go back for a bit, grab some clothes and stuff, then... Then what? What did she even have to live for any more? She swallowed, hard, staring at the limp body Sam wrapped up.

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**Hello again! Thanks for reading, it really means a lot to me. This was kind of a long chapter, but at least I didn't leave you in the middle of the action there, right? :) Let me know what you think of it. New chapter should be up hopefully on Saturday.**


	5. Chapter 5

**New chapter! Thanks for reading, following, and encouraging me to write more!**

**Maryem - I haven't exactly decided Amelia's age, but she's either 20 or 21.**

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Amelia watched as Sam finished wrapping up the bodies. Paul was gone. Amelia's brother was dead. Her father was dead. She grimaced. The ground was gone from underneath her feet.

Amelia was studying to be a nurse at the college a town over on an athletic scholarship for track. Long distance running. Without her family there was no reason to stay. Hell, without her family there was really no reason to keep going to school. She already had her CNA.

"So you guys do this sort of stuff all the time?"

He glanced up at her. "Yea, pretty much."

"How did you even get started at something like this?"

"Family business."

Silence hung in the air for a few minutes.

"How'd you end up here in town? I mean, how'd you find out about these," she gestured to the bodies, "things?"

"We watch the news," Sam told her, loading the second body, "keep a look out for weird stuff. We noticed the kidnappings, and the bloody crime scene and thought it might be our kind of thing."

Dean arrived back with the final body. "You know, it's probably not a bad idea to behead them when we get there. Frickin' witches, man."

He helped his brother wrap the final body and load it into the already packed trunk.

"I swear, if they get blood all over my car..."

"I wrapped them up, Dean," Sam told him, "it's fine."

"Yea, ok," he muttered. "Let's get going. Amelia, you'll want a lift back to your place?"

"Uh," she scuffed her shoe in the dirt, and scrunched her face up, but there was no way around it. She had to talk. "About that. Knowing that this kind of stuff is out there," she made a broad gesture with her hand, "well, I guess I," she chewed her lip. God, she hated this, begging for help. "Can I go with you?"

Sam's eyebrow cocked up. Dean just looked at her blankly.

"I mean, I don't want to spend the rest of my life scared of shadows," she told them, "I just want to know what's out there, how to find it, what to do about it."

"You want to be a _hunter_?" Dean asked, squinting his eyes at her.

"I wouldn't get in the way," she insisted, "I'll do whatever you say, just, God, don't leave me here for the rest of my life wondering if my neighbor's a freaking demon or something."

"Look, it's not a fun job," Dean snapped, "there's blood, and crappy hotel rooms and convenience store crap they sell as food. And amateurs get people killed. Even good hunters get killed. Brutal ways. You have a life, go live it."

Amelia just looked at him, no expression on her face. "What life?" She snapped back, when he had finished, taking a step towards them. "My brother's dead. My family's dead. Maybe school in the fall, but that's almost three months. I'm a nurse, I've seen people die. I watched my family get ripped to shreds. Now, take me or leave me, that's your choice. But I've made mine, I'm going to find out about this shit one way or the other."

She ended up a few feet away from the brothers, jaw clenched, hands tight in fists.

Dean looked at her with something between anger and pity. Sam just looked sorry for her.

"Now look here," Dean started, but Sam put a hand on his chest.

"Ok, Amelia."

"What?!" Dean looked at his brother in surprise. "You can't just-"

"Dean."

He calmed down a little bit at his brother's tone, but he still looked at her with distaste.

"Ok," Sam looked back at her. "I can't promise anything, but we'll call up our friend Bobby. He knows more about the supernatural than anyone we know. He's sort of a consultant. He might be willing to take you in, I don't know, as an apprentice or something. You could learn about the supernatural and you wouldn't be going on hunts, or putting other people danger."

He glanced at Dean, who still looked bitter, but not quite as much as before.

"I'm not just going to sit around reading books, or whatever," Amelia protested.

Sam held up his hand again. "Until you learn something about what we do, that's the way it's going to be, alright? You came along on this hunt because you had a right to. It was your family that was killed, you deserved revenge. But now you have it. Anything more, and you need to know what you're doing. Right now you don't, and that could get someone killed."

Amelia had a sour look on her face. But she nodded once, reluctantly. "Fine."

"Alright, I'll call Bobby, we'll see what he says." Sam took out his phone and dialed a number.

Amelia settled back against the car, glancing around at nothing, and her and Dean proceeded to glare at each other whenever their eyes met.

"Hey Bobby," Sam smiled into the phone, "no, no, we're fine. Just took care of three strigoi. Ash through the heart works wonders... Yea, we're going to burn them to make sure. Hey, listen, we got a civilian here, lost her family to the strigoi. She, uh, well, she wants to be a hunter, and well, we were kind of hoping you might take her on, show her the ropes... Yea, no, I understand... Yea, ok."

He held out the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Amelia swallowed, and took the phone, holding it up to her ear. "Hello."

"Hello," she heard a gruff voice. "Sorry about your family."

She didn't reply.

"Alright, ever shot a gun?"

"What?" she blinked. "No, I guess not."

"Ever been in a barfight?"

"Um, yea." Not her proudest moment.

"Name three ways to get money without a job."

She looked at Sam and Dean blankly. The hell was this? "Hustling pool, prostitution." Dean snorted. She had to think another second, then had a snarky thought. "Politics."

"Heh," she heard a grunt. "What does an allen wrench look like?"

"An L, I guess, six-sided. Metal-y?"

"Know any Latin?"

"E pluribus unum?"

"Ever use a fake to get into a bar?"

She was getting into the swing of the strange questions. "Went to small town bars, didn't need one."

"Worst beating you've ever taken."

She swallowed, and took a chance. "Every Friday when father dearest got into the Jack."

"Put Sam back on."

She held the phone back out, and Sam took it.

"Yep... Yea, no, she did pretty well. Got two of the strigoi actually. With a dislocated shoulder... Yea, I guess... Ah, not so much. You know how it is. Alright."

He hung up. "He says you're welcome to come for a week or two, to see how things go."

Amelia nodded. "Awesome," she said, in a mostly deadpan voice.

"Come on, that's my line!" Dean looked offended.

Sam ignored him. "I guess we can drive you to Bobby's. He lives in South Dakota," he informed Amelia. "Owns a junk yard."

"We gotta take care of the bodies first," Dean reminded him.

"Well yea. Listen, why don't we drop you off. We probably won't leave until tomorrow, maybe the day after, so pack some stuff up, get things squared away. There's not much extra room in the Impala, so keep it within reason."

"I travel light," she shrugged.

"Right, here's my number."

They climbed into the Impala, and it roared to life.

"Do you have a place for the night?"

"Uh," she swallowed again. "Yea," she lied. No way she was spending the night with pissed-off Dean. Or any two random strangers, even if she had just killed freaking vampires with them. Whatever had happened to her life, that wasn't going to change.

"We'll be at the motel and you have my number if you need anything."

"Right, thanks."

She rinsed off her face and made sure the blood wasn't noticeable on her sweatshirt. The last thing she needed was more questions. Dean pulled up in front of the house. The house where she had seen such horrible things. So much blood. Amelia took a breath. Dean put his car in park. Crime tape cordoned off the porch.

"Call the police up, they should let you in to get your stuff. No need to get fancy with explanations, and probably better if they don't see us. See you soon," Sam told her.

"Bye guys," she said, and stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

Amelia stood at the end of the sidewalk, staring at the house, which looked so innocent. Her parents had moved there after she was already in college, so she didn't know it very well. Now she had every reason to hate it. But she took a breath, and walked to the porch.

The Impala purred away down the street. She glanced at the door, which was taped shut with the special crime scene tampering sticker. She saw a number on it, though, and ducked under the tape so she could dial it on her phone. She wasn't in the mood for calling 911. After calling the number, Amelia sat down on the porch, hugging her knees, waiting for the police to show up.

* * *

**I had fun writing Bobby's questions in this chapter, I hope you enjoyed reading it! I'll be posting again soon, thanks again for reading. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Transition chapter here. Bear with me and next chapter I'll get back to the characters we all know and love. :)**

* * *

Ten minutes later a police cruiser pulled up. Amelia stood as the officers walked up to her.

"Hello, miss, we're very sorry about your family, we're doing everything we can to find them."

Right, they thought her family was alive somewhere. She had a sudden case of amnesia when the detectives questioned her. Dean had convinced her on that point.

"I just want to grab a few things from the house."

"Sure, that won't be a problem. Thanks for calling us, we would hate to have the crime scene tampered with. Come on."

The first officer slit the crime scene tape, and ushered her in. Blood still was smeared around the kitchen and living room. She found down bile again.

"So sorry, miss, ongoing investigation so we're leaving it like this for just a little while longer. Where are your things?"

She pointed upstairs, and picked her way through all the blood, and some things that weren't blood towards the stairs. By the time she reached them, she was shaking.

Alice in Chains played somewhere in her head, for absolutely no reason. _Feed my eyes, can you sew them shut?_ She thought to herself, and almost laughed bitterly, managing to choke it down. _Won't you come and save me._

Amelia hummed it very softly to herself as she packed up her things. _I'm the dog who gets beat. _She wasn't even living at her parents, they had been visiting for the weekend for her mother's birthday. But she still had most of her possessions there. She hadn't lied when she said she traveled light. Plaid seemed to be a necessity, based on what she had seen, so she threw her few plaid and flannel shirts into her duffel bag. A handful of t-shirts. Her favorite pairs of jeans. Hairbrush, shampoo, socks, wallet. Computer in her backpack. _Shove my nose in shit._ She threw her pantsuit in for good measure, and a pair of flats. Tied an extra pair of tennis shoes to her backpack. The room was almost bare. Amelia tucked another pair of jeans, lamented the extra space between the duffel and the backpack, then remembered her brother was almost the same size as her.

The police officer stood outside in the hallway, looking rather uncomfortable.

"I'd like to take a few of my brother's things if that's alright, and maybe a few things of my parents? Just something to hold on to I guess."

"Yes, of course."

She went to the guest bedroom, where things lay strewn everywhere. Paul's wife was not known for neatness, especially after the baby had been born.

Amelia rooted around in their things for a while, and found a few of Paul's favorite flannel shirts and sweatshirts. Some pictures in his suitcase from his wedding, his child, and a few pictures that had been taken of him and Amelia when they were younger. She took every picture with Paul in it. A tough-looking pair of jeans. A few of his sweatshirts. His wedding band, which fit on her index finger. Then she moved on to her parents' bedroom. Was there anything she wanted? Anything she even wanted to remember? She cleaned the money out her parent's safe. Not a whole lot in there, but it would last her a while. She took her father's key ring, but nothing else.

"Alright, I'm ready."

"Good, I can help you carry that."

The officer picked up her duffel, and she walked out of the house for the last time. The two policemen resealed the door, and walked her to the curb.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"Actually, could you drop me off at the storage place on Beech and 3rd? I'd like to have my dad's car with me whatever happens."

"Sure thing, miss."

She climbed out at the storage unit, grabbed her things, and waved goodbye to the police officers.

Amelia opened the door, ignoring the tools and benches, and threw the dust cover off of her father's baby. 1978 Trans Am. Black, with an ostentatious gold firebird on the hood, and more scoops and spoilers than would ever be necessary. She knew for a fact he loved the car more than either of his children. Oh well, he was gone now. Not quite buried, so he couldn't technically roll in his grave. She ran a finger over the shiny hood. Then Amelia smiled. She tossed her bags into the back seat, and dropped into the driver's seat. This would be interesting with one arm. Thankfully the police hadn't commented on her injury.

She dropped the clutch, and started it. The car grumbled to life. Then she threw it in first, and eased out of the storage unit. She cranked the radio on some random hideous pop station, and rolled the windows down.

"Here's to you, dad," she flipped a bird at the sky. Amelia peeled out of the parking lot and made forty before she hit the street, even with having to knee steer when she shifted. Too bad she didn't have two good arms to properly drive the car. It purred away, and she could almost understand why her father loved the car so much. But she could smell the whiskey in the car, her father's pervasive perfume. She drove away the rest of the day, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. Singing along to the music at the top of her lungs. On the highway, on back roads, around town. She stopped to eat once, at some little diner, and took her pain pills.

When night fell, she found herself back at the storage unit with almost no gas left in the tank. She stowed the car away. Well, that had been fun. Maybe she wouldn't sell the car after all. But the house would definitely go, and the other crappy car her mom drove. That would be awkward to manage if people thought her parents were still alive. Well, she could always take care of it later. It wasn't like she had to leave forever. Heck, she could even take the car. Wasn't like her father could care anymore.

But she knew one thing for sure. She was definitely not sleeping in a bed that night. Way too many thoughts crowding her head. So Amelia started running, like she always did. She had run as a kid, with her brother, just to run. She ran as a teenager to forget the crap of her home life. That's when she found out she was actually good at it, and now she ran in college to pay for her school. Though she hardly knew the house her parents had lived in, Amelia knew every street in a mile radius around it, and some even farther. Feet flapping on the pavement, shoulder jolting painfully at every footfall. She kept going, though, slower than usual, but for hours it seemed. When she was good and exhausted, Amelia crashed in one of the parks, laying down on the soft grass to catch a few hours of sleep. It certainly wasn't the first time. Hell, she even kind of enjoyed sleeping outside in the summer. The crisp smell of the air, the sound of the wind in the trees, the prickle of the grass. Just as long as it didn't rain.

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**If you're not familiar with '78 Trans Ams, you should definitely check them out, they're beautiful cars. It just didn't seem like Amelia could be a hunter without a cool old muscle car. :)  
**

**I'm attempting to work in some sort of soundtrack into the story, however the only way it will work most of the time is to have Amelia hum or sing a song. Let me know if it works, or if you think it's just annoying.**


	7. Chapter 7

Amelia woke up to the first few rays of sunlight filtering through the trees. Her shoulder hurt like hell. She dry swallowed her pain pills, and stood, brushing the grass off her back. Awesome. She couldn't wait to ditch the town. Just bad memories and pain left. She texted Sam, and ate her breakfast at a random restaurant. He texted back just as she finished her coffee.

_Meet at hotel?_

_Sure, be there in a half hour._

_See you then._

Amelia finished her breakfast, and fetched the car from the storage. After filling with gas, she drove to the motel. Dean's Impala sat by itself, so she pulled up beside. The cars looked sort of nice, sitting side by side. Some vintage car gathering or something. Amelia jogged up to the room, and knocked. Sam opened.

"Hey, morning."

She nodded, with a small smile.

"Dean's in the shower. Listen, yesterday, we called up the cops, told them the location of the warehouse where the bodies are. If you want to stick around for the funerals-"

"Nah," she interrupted him with a shrug. "Already seen 'em dead."

"Fair enough."

Dean wandered out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans and nothing else. Aside from a weird symbol tattooed over his heart, he had a very nice chest. She couldn't help but admire it.

"Whoa, Sammy, tell me when we have visitors?" Dean pulled on a t-shirt, and a plaid long-sleeved shirt over that.

Amelia raised an eyebrow, and he gave her a charming smile that seemed to be almost involuntary. Dean picked up an oddly shaped amulet from the dresser, and hung it around his neck.

"Ready to ditch town?" he glanced out the window. "Wow, nice Firebird, yours?"

"My father's," she answered, in a clipped tone.

"Sweet ride. But honestly, we should be leaving. Police will start suspecting us pretty soon, once they find out the IDs were crap. You want to bring your car along?"

"I guess."

"Follow us to Bobby's then," Dean grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. "Sam, let's move."

Sam grabbed his own stuff, computer bag, backpack, duffel, and followed his brother out, stowing their things in the Impala.

Dean wandered around the Firebird, admiring it. "Very nice ride," he told Amelia. "Whatever else he wasn't, your dad knew cars, wow! '77?"

"'78."

"The Impala's going to get jealous, Dean," Sam told him, smirking.

"Aw, baby knows she's the only car for me, just have to admire this fine set of wheels."

He patted the hood. "Let's rooolll!" Dean hopped into his car and cranked his music up. "Try to keep up! No bathroom breaks every ten miles."

Sam rolled his eyes, and climbed in the passenger seat. Amelia hopped in the Firebird, and peeled out of the parking lot behind Dean, who seemed determined to break every speed limit on the road. She cranked her own music up, and sang at the top of her lungs to whatever song she knew. Near noon, Dean pulled off the interstate into a little town and rolled into a diner. He devoured a burger and fries, Sam nibbled at a salad, and Amelia ate her sandwich without too much enthusiasm. After lunch, Sam chose to ride with Amelia.

After a while of riding in relative silence and complete awkwardness, the music playing quietly, Sam spoke up.

"How are you doing?"

Amelia swallowed, hand tightening on the wheel briefly. "I'm fine." He was really going to do this?

"Your family was killed," Sam said, softly. "You just found out the world has monsters in it."

She didn't reply for a while, just staring straight ahead, steering by reflex. "Look, Sam," she started, then paused, searching for the right words, "I've known you for like two days." No way she was spilling her soul to him.

"Yea, I know. It's just... When people find out about this world, they tend to just wall up. Half the time, hunters are hermits, paranoid, violent even; most of them don't trust other hunters, let alone civilians. I just want you to know you can trust us."

She never replied, just kept driving. Sam sighed, and settled in for a long, quiet ride.

A few awkward hours later, Amelia followed the Impala under a rather ominous looking iron sign proclaiming _Singer Salvage. _They parked in front of a ratty old house, decorated mainly with hubcaps and old leaves. She followed Sam and Dean to the door, and trailed after them into the house. Her first impression was books, books everywhere. Then whiskey, dust, and week old delivery pizza. Amelia swallowed.

Then she saw Bobby behind his desk. Older, with a baseball hat that had probably been new when Vietnam was all over the news. Scruffy.

"Hello boys," he said, gruffly, and stood to walk over to them. "And hello to you, too."

He offered a hand to Amelia. "I'm Bobby Singer."

He smelled like grease and whiskey. She suddenly had to choke back her gag reflex, and tried to keep her breathing even. But she swallowed yet again, and shook his hand. "Amelia," she said, very quietly. "Or any nickname you can make from it."

"Any nickname?" Dean looked intrigued, and started mumbling under his breath as he walked to the fridge. "How about Meeli?" He smirked, like he had done something very clever, and took a couple beers from the fridge, tossing one to Sam. "Or Lee?" He cracked open his beer. "Um. Haha. Um."

"Beer, Amelia?" Bobby asked, ignoring Dean.

She shrugged, but accepted the bottle.

"So ya wanna be a hunter?" Bobby's bright eyes studied her from the shadow of his hat.

"Just want to know what's out there," she muttered, taking a swig from her beer to steady herself.

"You're welcome to stay for a couple weeks, just to see how things work. We'll see from there."

Amelia nodded, glancing around what she could see of the house. Books were piled everywhere, dirty dishes in the sink. Dust lay in sheets. Faded burgandy wallpaper covered the walls, with minor tears and scratches.

"You can stay in the spare bedroom I guess. Have yer stuff?"

"I'll grab my bags," she took a generous swallow of her beer, and set the bottle on the table. When she was outside, she found herself taking huge breaths of the air. The air inside stifled her with the closeness. The smell of liquor and grease and machinery was far too close. But Amelia was nothing if not stubborn. She grabbed her backpack and duffel, and walked back in.

"Bedroom's upstairs," Bobby told her, "I'll show ya."

After surveying the room, she tossed her things on the floor, glancing at the two beds, which seemed relatively clean. "Are you sure the guys won't want the beds?"

"They'll probably be takin' off soon. Found a hunt for em, I'm sure they'll take it."

She followed Bobby downstairs again, where Sam had his computer out on the kitchen table and was sipping a beer. Dean seemed to have fallen asleep on the couch, still wearing his boots, with his arm thrown over his head.

"Think I found a hunt for you boys," Bobby told Sam quietly. He tossed a newspaper clipping on the table.

Sam picked it up, and read over it. "Animal attacks? Could be our thing."

Bobby shrugged. "It's not too far away, wouldn't hurt you two to check it out. Don't mean much with only two killin's, but the lunar cycle seems to match up. Could be a werewolf."

"And the next full moon is this week," Sam sighed. "Alright, we'll check it out." He glanced at his brother. "If Dean gets a good nap, he can drive all night to get us there."

Amelia leaned against the countertop, sipping her beer. "So werewolves. People really turn into wolves during a full moon?"

Sam's jaw tightened, and he returned to his computer, leaving Bobby to explain.

"Technically not. Their teeth and fingernails extend, so they can do some damage, but they don't turn into a wolf. They're just folks that turn wolfish 'round a full moon."

He wandered into the next room, and she heard a few minor thumps. Soon he came back with a dusty book. "Here, might as well start learnin' right off."

Amelia took the oversized book in both hands. It seemed ancient, with a cracked leather cover and yellowed pages.

"Ya can't trust everything ya find in books, but that's the best damn book on werewolves I ever come across. Start readin'."

* * *

**Yay Bobby! I have to admit I've been a Bobby fan since the first scene with the flasks of holy water and whiskey, so I always knew he'd be in any fan-fics I wrote. Let me know if you think I could improve anything! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hunter training! Thanks for the kind words about Bobby. :)**

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Over the next few days, Amelia buried herself in werewolf lore. At first she started with the good books, then Bobby moved her on to other, less reputable sources, saying that she had to learn how to sort through conflicting lore. From there she moved onto ghosts. Vengeful spirits, death omens, haunted houses and objects.

The third night, Amelia woke up in the middle of the night to a full blown panic attack, heart pounding in her chest, the darkness pressing in all around her, images of blood and death swarming over her. Bobby found her passed out on the couch the next morning, a severely depleted whiskey bottle propped up against her. After that, she moved into the panic room. It could be locked from the inside.

The two week limit passed without a word between them, and they fell into a tacit routine. Every morning before the sun rose, Amelia went on a run. Sometimes three miles, sometimes five. Occasionally she ran a full ten miles. Her shoulder healed quickly. After the sun had risen and she had finished her run, she went back to the house. By then, Bobby usually had some sort of breakfast. Sometimes pancakes and bacon, sometimes just cereal and milk depending on how busy he was. After breakfast, she took a quick shower, then settled down to the day's business. If Bobby needed help researching, Amelia pitched in without a word, otherwise she read whatever book Bobby had given her to read. If no one's life was depending on the research, she went to a makeshift shooting range before lunch and practiced with a handgun Bobby had given her. After she had shot a few clips out of it, Amelia fixed some kind of lunch. Bobby had a tendency to forget lunch, so she tracked him down and gave him a sandwich some time around noon. While she ate, she sipped a beer, and flipped through the conspiracy theory section of the internet, looking for cases.

If there was no research to do for hunters on cases, she helped Bobby with the salvage yard in the afternoons, and learned about cars and machinery. Sometimes he chased her out of the house to go deal with a customer while he read. Within the first few weeks, Amelia learned her way around the old dead cars. She would practice lockpicking for hours on end. Again barring research, they usually collaborated on cooking supper, watching the local news and silently sipping another beer. After supper, half the time Bobby sent her into town. She went to the bars and polished up the supplementary parts of being a hunter. Money had been short in college, so she already knew how to hustle pool. But now she practiced in earnest, and learned how to lie through her teeth. She was single, she was engaged. Her parents were alive, she had run away from home at twelve, she had gone to juvie three times. Every now and then someone would take offense and throw a punch at her, but she quickly learned to play the thin line between oblivious drunk and angry drunk. The other evenings she spent on learning Latin and ancient Greek.

After ghosts, she worked her way into witches and spellcraft. She read about blood and sacrifices and learned banishing and summoning rituals. Every now and then, Bobby would ask her something completely random. If she didn't know the answer, she had to sift through all the books in the house to try to find out the answer. So she memorized three exorcisms, stowed almost countless sigils away in her memory, learned the properties of one hundred different spell ingredients. Everywhere she went, she had salt, silver and iron on her person somewhere. She answered the phones when Bobby wasn't close, playing the bubbly secretary to whichever agency was scribbled on the phone. He lectured her on various hunters, telling her to avoid some at any cost, help some if they asked, and telling her the names of the few hunters he would trust to some extent. Sam and Dean were off hunting, going from one case to the next, calling Bobby when they needed help, but never close enough to drop in on the salvage yard. Bobby called them up with potential hunts when he or Amelia came across them.

She studied or hustled until early in the morning, and crashed for a few hours of sleep when she could not force her eyes to stay open any more. Sometimes she still couldn't sleep, so she would go for another run in the dark. In spite of the lack of sleep and excess of alcohol, she was probably in the best shape of her life. Amelia timed herself a few times, and she broke her personal record every time by at least a few seconds. The dreams kept getting worse. Her brother, dead or dying. The strigoi. Every single thing she read about. Her father. But she kept reading, and started to drink stupid amounts of coffee, alternating with beer or whiskey when she really needed to sleep. She hated depending on alcohol to get a decent night's rest, and the smell and taste of whiskey still made her uncomfortable, but she had to sleep sometime, right?

Her twenty second birthday came and went. Bobby didn't know the day, and Amelia didn't tell him.

Two months after she had come to Bobby's, he received a call from a more vague than usual Garth. With a sigh, he told her to keep a sharp eye on the place, loaded his beat up Chevelle, and rode off to rescue the hapless hunter from whatever he had entrenched himself in this time.

Amelia settled in with her latest book, preparing for a lazy week in sweats.


	9. Chapter 9

**Introducing Jo! She's harder to write than I expected, please let me know what you think. Not too much in this chapter, but she'll be in the next couple quite a bit. :) As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

Sometime in the afternoon, the third day after Bobby left, Amelia heard a car pull up and then a knocking at the door. Placing her most recent book on supernatural creatures on the floor, she wandered to the door, checking her holy water and salt. A petite young woman stood there, twenties maybe. Fitted flannel, ripped jeans, nice blonde hair. She gaped at Amelia. Bobby had drilled the importance of observing into her, so she quickly glanced up and down the strange woman. Shapeshifter, maybe, or demon. Most likely not a vampire out in the sunlight.

"Where's Bobby?" the girl took a step back, reaching behind her back.

"Whoa," Amelia held up her hands. She now wished she had put on something more presentable than her brother's ratty old oversized sweatshirt and yesterday's jeans. A shower would have been a good idea as well. "He's out helping Garth."

Amelia glanced at the car, and saw a middle aged woman in the front seat, sleeping against the window.

The strange woman's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"I'm Amelia," she answered.

In response, she received a face full of water. "Not a demon," she snapped, and in return splashed the girl on the porch with her holy water.

She sputtered, and wiped a hand over her face. "I'm not a demon either."

"Silver?" Amelia tossed the girl her silver knife. She caught it, sighed, and held it to the inside of her arm, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"No shapeshifter, you?"

Amelia took the girl's knife, and repeated the demonstration on her own arm.

"I'm Jo Harvelle," she said, and they gave each other back their knives. "Now who the hell are you and why are you in Bobby's house?"

"Ah, Jo, right," Amelia nodded, "Bobby told me about you. Your mother's Ellen, she used to own a hunter bar, right?"

Jo crossed her arms, glaring at Amelia. "Yes. Stop avoiding the question. Who are you?"

"I'm Amelia, like I said. Vampires killed my family a couple months back, Bobby's showing me the ropes."

"Right. Bobby the paranoid hermit," Jo scoffed.

"Call him up if you want," Amelia shrugged. "Why are you here anyways?"

Jo glanced back at the car. "My mom got her leg broken by a ghost, and I decided this would probably be the best place for her to heal up."

"Sure, I'm sure Bobby wouldn't mind. The spare bedrooms are empty if she can make it up the stairs."

"She's pretty strung out on pain pills right now," Jo sighed.

"Well, the couch then."

After Amelia had been introduced to Ellen, who also insisted on dousing her with holy water, the two girls managed between them to get Ellen in the house and deposited more or less comfortably on the couch. Ellen settled back into the couch, pain wrinkling her face, but fell asleep again fairly soon.

The girls stood in the kitchen, trying not to make eye contact.

"Beer?" Amelia suggested, grabbing one for herself.

"Sure," Jo jumped on the suggestion.

They opened them, and sipped, again lapsing into silence.

"So you hunt with your mother," Amelia volunteered.

"Yea," Jo nodded. "The last couple years."

"Cool," she took a sip.

A few awkward seconds passed.

"I'm sorry about your family," Jo told her.

Amelia shrugged. Nothing to say to that, really. Just take another drink.

The silence grew.

"Well, I'm going to grab a couple bags from the car. You said the bedrooms are open?"

"Yea, need a hand?"

"No, I got it," Jo turned to the door, and paused. "Where are you staying then?"

"Panic room."

"Oh." Jo studied her for a few seconds, then opened the door.

Amelia took a breath when Jo stepped outside. She had used more words in that conversation than Bobby and her usually exchanged in a whole day. With a grimace, she drained her beer, and tossed the bottle in the garbage, pulling another one from the fridge. Wonderful. Hopefully Bobby would be back soon. At this rate, by the time he returned she would be more of an alcoholic than him. She picked up her book, and re-immersed herself in the lore of corporal monsters.

Jo brought a couple duffel bags in from the car, and walked past her up the stairs without a word. Amelia heard the shower turn on a few minutes later. Ellen dosed on the couch, tossing and turned every now and then. Amelia rubbed her eyes. The handwritten words had faded a few centuries ago, and it strained her eyes to concentrate on the yellow pages for too long. Jo emerged from upstairs before Amelia made it too much farther in the book.

"Leftover lasagna in the fridge," Amelia told her, without looking up. "If you're hungry. Lettuce, too, if you're the salad type."

"Thanks," Jo grunted, and Amelia heard the fridge door creak.

A ringing phone suddenly split the air. Amelia rocked back in her chair, grabbed the ringing phone, and double checked the name underneath it.

"Agent Willis' office," she answered in her best secretary voice. "No, I'm afraid he isn't in today... I can have him call you back when he gets back in?... Of course... Ah yes, Agents Wayne and Kent... No, not at all... Have a nice day sir."

She hung up the phone, then chuckled. "Wayne and Kent," she shook her head, with another laugh. "That has to go down on my list of favorites."

Jo took the head of lettuce out of the fridge, and laughed with her. "If you're going to make fakes, might as well have some fun with it."

"Superheroes though?" Amelia flipped a page. "Has to be the Winchesters."

"You know them, too?" asked Jo, as she made herself a salad.

"Yea, they were the ones who found me."

"How long have you been here?"

"About two months, now."

"I see. Where are you from?"

Amelia shrugged. "All over. My family moved around a lot when I was a kid. Midwest, mostly. Went to school in Nebraska before I came here."

"I grew up in Nebraska," Jo said. "That's where the Roadhouse was before it got blown up."

Silence fell again.

Two days later, Bobby came in the front door, duffel slung over his shoulder. Jo and Ellen sat at the kitchen table, pouring over old books. He stopped short when he saw them.

"Bobby!"

"Ellen, Jo."

"My leg got broken," Ellen explained, "ghost. Jo drove us up here and Amelia let us stay. Hope you don't mind."

"Course not," Bobby shook his head. "Where is the kid?"

"M'in here," she called out from the couch. "Could use some help, Irv called, has some wacky case. Can't make any sense of it."

Bobby tossed the duffel on the floor, and walked to Amelia. Books surrounded her, papers with scribbles all over them, and she held onto her coffee mug tightly. Huge dark circles were under her eyes.

"Whatcha got?"

With Bobby back, they solved the case within the next hour, and Bobby called the hunter up.

Amelia rolled over on the couch without another word, burying her head in the pillow, and fell asleep almost instantly.

"I'm taking a nap, too," Jo announced with a yawn, and wandered upstairs, leaving Ellen and Bobby alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Longer chapter here. I realized I'll have to bump up the length of the chapters so there's not a ridiculous amount of chapters. Enjoy!**

* * *

Amelia woke up a couple hours later after another nightmare that left her heart racing. Bobby, sitting at his desk, glanced up at her when she jerked awake on the couch.

"How're you doing, Amy?" he asked, as soft as his gruff voice could go.

She scrubbed her hand through her greasy hair. No shower in two days. Gross. "Uh," she blinked the sleep from her eyes. "Been a little crowded around here."

Amelia stood, and cracked her back. "How'd the thing with Garth go?"

"Ghost messed up his short term memory," Bobby chuckled at the memory. "He was fine after we ganked the ghost."

She nodded. "I'm going for a run."

"Have fun," he told her.

Amelia ran her ten miles that afternoon. She hadn't lied when she told Bobby the house had been crowded. Jo and Ellen had been nice, but awkward silences had filled the time until Irv called with the case. She had been glad for the excuse to bury her nose in a book and not have to talk. She breathed in the air with a smile. No run for almost two days. Her feet fairly flew over the scuff of dirt that marked her ten mile track. She abandoned all her thoughts, and just ran.

After her shower, she walked downstairs into a full on family fight.

"It's one ghost!" Jo gesticulated wildly.

Ellen shook her head. "You don't know that! Hunting alone is a bad idea! It gets people hurt, or killed!"

"I can't believe you still don't trust me, after all these years."

"It's not that I don't trust you, Jo, I don't trust the job."

Bobby sat at his desk, trucker hat pulled low on his head, concentrating on the book in front of him like the most fascinating mysteries of the world lay hidden within. Everyone looked up at Amelia when she poked her head around the corner.

A second later, Jo pointed at her, still staring at her mother. "She can come along."

"What?" Ellen, Bobby, and Amelia all said at the same exact moment, each with their own unique inflection.

"It's perfect. She needs to go on a hunt sometime, this one is pretty safe. No one's died yet, might not even be a haunting," Jo argued.

"Joanna Beth," Ellen started.

"What's going on?" Amelia demanded, throwing her arms up in the air.

"Three freak accidents at a Minnesota grain elevator," Jo handed her a printed sheet. "Could be a haunting. I want to check it out."

Amelia glanced at the paper, and skimmed the information. When she looked back up, Ellen and Jo were already arguing again. She glanced over at Bobby and shrugged. She would only go if he cleared it. No way would she alienate him, now when she was just starting to realize how much she didn't know. He understood her silent shrug.

"Nothing cocky, alright?" Bobby told her. "Do what Jo says. Research the crap out of it before you do anything. There's a reason there aren't many hunters my age."

"Bobby!" Ellen glared at him. "Back me up here."

"I think the girls can handle it," he shrugged. "Amelia hasn't been sitting here knitting for two months."

"But she's never been on a hunt," Ellen argued. "She could get Jo killed."

Amelia nibbled on her tongue, avoiding Ellen's eyes.

"She killed two strigoi with a dislocated shoulder the day after she found out the supernatural was real," Bobby snapped. "I think that counts as a hunt."

"You bring my daughter back, or I'll kill you myself," Ellen told Amelia, flatly.

"Mom!" Jo groaned, then she looked at Amelia. "Grab your stuff, we'll leave ASAP."

Amelia blinked at each person in turn, then failed to stifle a chuckle. The only one who had taken her opinion into account was Bobby, and technically he hadn't even asked.

"You think this is funny?" Ellen demanded.

"I won't do anything stupid, ma'am," she promised, and she jogged to the panic room to stuff a few changes of clothes into her backpack. A rosary just in case. Her gun, with normal and silver bullets, plenty of matches. She stowed her silver, iron, salt, and holy water on her person. Zippo went into her pocket. Flask of whiskey just in case. A few granola bars.

When she walked upstairs, Ellen still sat at the table, arms crossed and a sour look on her face. Bobby met her at the top of the stairs.

"I made these up for you," he handed her a small stack of laminated cards. "FBI, journalist pass, CDC, a couple driver's licenses and insurance cards. Here's two credit cards, don't be stupid with them."

She took the stack, and stared at the cards. A sudden desire to hug him struck her, but instead she just smiled. "Thanks Bobby." Amelia flipped through them, her face smiling up at her from each. Amelia Carter. Amelia Adams. Amelia Fillmore.

"Presidents," she had to laugh when she figured it out. "Very nice."

She could have sworn his mouth twitched into something like a smile for a millisecond.

Jo poked her head in the door. "Ready to go?"

Amelia nodded, and smiled at Bobby again. "See you in a few days, thanks again for the IDs."

"Be careful. Take some extra salt, just in case," he tossed her a box of Morton. "Gotta shovel and lighter fluid Jo?"

"Of course," she smiled.

Jo didn't drive as fast as Dean, but they still arrived in the small town much faster than the Google Maps estimate. Amelia napped most of the way. After getting a cheap motel room, they headed to a diner for food and gossip.

"I'm thinking newspaper writers," Jo said, before they hopped out of the car. "Article on the strange accidents at the elevator."

Amelia shrugged, and stuffed a small notebook in her jacket pocket. "Sounds good to me."

"Small town people usually love their gossip," Jo said, as they walked to the door.

"Oh I've lived in like twenty small towns," Amelia snorted, "believe me I know."

Three old farmers later, they got the name of a teenage boy who fell to his death from the elevator the year before. A daredevil prank gone bad, a group of boys had climbed the huge cement grain bin to goof around on the catwalks and paint graffiti. One of them had slipped and plummeted to the ground, shattering his skull on the cement below.

The two girls finished their food, and walked out.

"So it could be a haunting then," Amelia said. "It takes a while for spirits to become active, he might just be flexing his muscles, gearing up for something bigger."

"I'd like to talk to some of the people involved in the accidents, see if we can get any word about ghost activity before we have to go dig up a grave. Maybe go to the elevator, try the EMF."

Amelia grabbed the paper with the original article on it. "Says James Sawyer is an elevator employee, he was there for two of the accidents."

"Sounds good to me, just have to find where he lives-"

Amelia took a phone book from inside her jacket and started flipping through it.

"Where did you get that?"

"Slipped it from the diner," Amelia ran her finger down the list of names. "Got it, let's go."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Yea, I was there when the train rolled away and the bin broke."

"Did anything strange happen the day of the accidents?" Jo asked.

"Strange as in what?" he shrugged.

"Anything," she said, "did you see anyone strange around? Get weird feelings like something was out of place, or cold drafts or anything?"

"Now that you mention it," he scratched the stubble on his chin, "I thought I saw ice on the train track after it rolled away, but it didn't make any sense. I'm sure it was a trick of the light."

"Anything else Mr. Sawyer?"

"Nothing that I remember. There's usually quite a few people around when we load a train, it's hard to keep track of everybody. I don't remember anyone strange being there."

"Thank you for your time," the girls both smiled, and left.

"Well, I think that settles it," Jo said as they sat down in the car again. "Not quite cut and dried, but good enough to burn the kid's bones. I'll keep an eye on it, if things don't settle down someone can come back. Not like anyone's been killed yet."

"Violent death right on site, ice and cold air? Seems like a pretty solid case against the kid." Amelia shrugged. "Timing is right, too. Just have to find the grave."

She returned to her phone book.

"We'll probably have to check the hospital," Jo said, thoughtfully, then looked at Amelia. "What are you doing?"

"Two cemeteries in town," Amelia told her. "Catholic and Lutheran. Judging by how the waitress at the diner acted, she knew the parents. Doesn't necessarily mean anything, waitresses know everyone, but she was definitely Catholic. So I'd guess Catholic cemetery."

"How do you know she was Catholic?" Jo raised an eyebrow.

"Medal around her neck," Amelia replied. "The cemeteries can't be that big anyhow, shouldn't take too long to find a year old grave."

"Unless he was cremated," Jo argued.

"Well, then we have bigger problems."

"No kidding," she snorted. "Alright, where's the graveyard?"

After a half hour of searching through the graveyard, Jo found the boy's grave, and shouted to Amelia. They looked down at the grave together. Nice granite headstone, with fresh flowers laid against it, and a span of years much too short.

"Hello Brian," Amelia murmured.

"We'll come back when it's dark out. It'll be a pain to dig," Jo sighed. "Want some supper?"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

That night, they jumped the fence with two shovels, salt and lighter fluid, wearing all black with hoods pulled over their faces.

"This is so weird," Amelia chuckled as they started to roll back the sod. "We're digging up a grave. What's wrong with this picture?"

"You won't be laughing in an hour," Jo grunted.

She wasn't. Sweat dripped off her face, and even through her gloves blisters were starting to form on her hands. "They don't joke about six feet under do they," she panted for breath.

"Usually it's not six feet," Jo answered. "Feels like it, though."

Another half hour of steady digging passed before they finally reached the coffin. Even then, it took almost another hour before the top was finally cleared off enough for them to wrench the lid open. Amelia shone a flashlight down on the bones.

"Gross," she commented. Bits of skin stretched over the dry bones, the clothes hanging limp, and dark stains covered the white lining of the coffin.

Jo pulled out her EMF reader, and scanned the body. The little machine beeped constantly. "Hello ghost!"

She hopped out of the hole, and grabbed the salt. Amelia took the lighter fluid, and they doused the body liberally.

"Want to do the honors, since it is your first salt and burn?"

Amelia shrugged, and took out a book of matches. She lit the whole thing up, and tossed it in. Fire leaped up, and the bones crackled in the heat.

They watched in tired silence until the fire died down.

"Well," Jo sighed, "now we get to put it all back in."

Amelia winced, and gingerly rubbed her hand.

"Goes quicker, though."

Jo shut the lid. "Good night, Brian. At least you never killed someone."

Then they started on the pile of dirt, packing it in so it would all fit.

"No way they don't notice someone's been at the grave," Amelia commented.

Jo worked for a while before replying. "Sometimes they don't, if it's an old grave. This one they probably will. Another random grave desecration. And we're certainly not the Satanic type, or grave robbers, so no way they suspect us."

An hour later, they worked the sod back into place, and did a once over with the flashlight to make sure they hadn't missed anything. Amelia glanced at the headstone one last time, and gave another chuckle.

"Ever dig up the wrong grave?" she asked, as they snuck out of the cemetery and crawled over the fence again.

Jo laughed as they walked slowly, painfully to the car. "I heard that Garth did one time."

They both laughed. Amelia had met the squirrely little hunter once.

"Though, because it's Garth, it actually ended up being the right grave."

"No way!" Amelia knocked some dirt off the shovels, and tossed them into the trunk.

"Yep! He thought it was the wife killing people, but it ended up being the husband. She was a ghost too, but she was just trying to warn people before he killed them. Death omen. Disappeared once his ghost was gone."

They had a good laugh as Jo drove back to the motel. "I think this calls for a six pack, what do you say?"

"Where are you going to find beer at four in the morning?"

"I took the liberty of bringing a couple cases from Bobby's," she gestured to the back seat. "Kind of a tradition."

Amelia laughed. "Sure, since you're so keen on it."

"Great! Showers first, then beer," Jo yawned, and pulled into the motel. "And I call dibs on the shower first."

* * *

**Yay! Interaction with Jo. :) They seem to be getting along pretty well, huh? As always, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

They limped up the stairs to their motel room, backs sore from lifting the dirt out of the grave. With Jo in the shower, Amelia cracked a beer open, turned on the television, and flopped down on her bed with a grateful sigh. After ten or fifteen Jo emerged wearing a skinny tank top and a pair of shorts that could only be described as cute. Amelia was slightly disgusted, but she took her own shower, and wore her baggy t-shirt and sweatpants proudly.

Jo had started her second beer when Amelia came out, hair dripping. Amelia grabbed her second, and flopped down on the bed again.

"So are you going to go back to college in the fall?" Jo asked after a few minutes of channel flicking.

"Haven't decided yet."

"Do you actually like it?"

What kind of a question was that? "I guess it's alright. I don't have too many friends. No one would really miss me."

"Hunters think college is some sort of holy experience," Jo brooded. "Mom wanted me to go to college, Sam ran away to go to college..." She took a long drink.

"Yea, I think Bobby wants me to go back."

"How is living with Bobby?" Jo asked, blinking at her.

She shrugged. "We get along. Don't talk much I guess."

They watched a segment of some horrible romantic comedy.

Jo polished off her beer. Amelia raised her eyebrow, but didn't judge. When she helped Bobby research a difficult case, by the second day she was pretty much running on alcohol to keep down the headaches from reading for thirty hours straight.

"So tell me," Jo sat up, sitting on the edge of her bed staring at Amelia. "What's it like living a normal life? I was raised by hunter parents, I didn't have any friends, I was always the weird kid with super strict parents."

She received a bitter laugh in answer. "You'd have to ask someone else," Amelia told her. "My family was pretty messed up."

"What do you mean?" Jo was well into her third beer and showed no signs of stopping.

What harm could it do? "We moved around a lot. Longest we ever stayed in a place was like a year. Usually moved every six months or so, to some new dinky small town, another old motel room or crappy apartment. Summers were OK. My brother and I would just leave. Run around town, go swimming, whatever. Half the time we slept outside, just as long as it wasn't too cold or raining. Wouldn't see our parents for days at a time. Mom worked all day, dad worked until he lost his job then he started drinking. Ate whatever we could find, invited ourselves to birthday parties, took food from those food pantry donation boxes. Never really stole, though. Paul would find some way."

"I'm sorry," Jo said. "I guess no one's life is perfect."

"Hell, you have a mom that actually give a damn," Amelia told her. "That counts for quite a bit in my book."

"Yea," she shrugged. "I guess. We fight a lot."

They watched TV in silence for a while.

"So you probably don't know what normal people do in these situations either," Jo giggled.

"Sleep?" Amelia suggested, innocently. "Truth or dare?"

"Ooh, I played that at like the only sleep over I was ever invited to. Didn't end well, the other girls freaked out when I tried to put down a salt line. And when I wanted to play ghost hunter instead of playing with dolls... All in all it didn't go too well."

Amelia laughed at the thought of a little Jo in pigtails bossing the other girls around.

"So, truth or dare?"

"Uh," she tried to think of a way out of the situation, and failed. "Dare."

Jo thought for a few seconds, then, "handstand."

"Easy," smirked Amelia, putting down her beer. She did a perfect freestanding handstand between the beds, and held it for a few seconds before flopping down on to the bed.

"Show off. Go ahead, ask me!"

"I'm horrible at this!"

"Come on," Jo wheedled, "I never got to just hang out like this as a kid."

"Fine. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Amelia stared at the TV for a few minutes, then, "I have no idea. Did you have a pet as a kid?"

"Boring," drawled Jo, "I had two cats named Fluffy and Jewels."

"You had a cat named Jewels?" Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"It was a tom," Jo admitted, and Amelia howled in laughter.

"I was five, ok?!"

"Jewels had jewels!" she started to tear up from laughing too hard, and Jo chucked a pillow at her head.

"Truth or dare?" she demanded.

"Truth," Amelia felt adventurous, and Jo was far enough into her beer that any memories would be hazy the next morning.

"Hmmm," Jo stroked an imaginary beard. "Exact opinion of the Winchesters."

"Ahh," Amelia stalled again. "Nice enough. Wouldn't want to get on their bad side. Pretty cute, I suppose."

"Just 'pretty cute'?" Jo prodded.

"Wait," Amelia had hung around with the other track girls enough to spot a crush right in front of her. Plus it would put Jo on the defensive. "You like one of them."

"What?" Jo backtracked, "no, we're just old friends."

"You do!" Amelia tossed the pillow back. "Sam? He seems really nice. Sweet. Hair's a bit long," she studied the girl's face as she spoke. "Nope, you like Dean."

Jo's blush told her that she was right.

"Well I won't challenge you there," Amelia shrugged. "He seems like a player, no offense."

"Yea, well, he's a hunter," Jo defended herself. "A young, handsome hunter."

"With cute little freckles," Amelia teased her, "and a cool car, and a leather jacket."

"You're a dork!" Jo tossed her pillow back. "What about you and Sam, hmmm? You seemed to have plenty of nice things to say about him."

Amelia just laughed, and Jo stuck her tongue out.

"Truth or dare, Jo?" Amelia relaxed back onto her pillow. This really wasn't that bad. Of course, that could be the five beers talking. Oh well.

"Dare," Jo answered.

"Stand on one leg and recite the alphabet backwards?" Amelia suggested.

"What is this, a sobriety test?" Jo grumbled, but hopped off her bed.

"Haha, you probably won't pass," Amelia teased her.

And she didn't. When she hit 'q', Jo teetered, stumbled across the room, and twisted her ankle when she tried to catch herself.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, grabbing at her ankle.

Amelia launched off her bed and was at Jo's side in under two seconds. "Are you alright?" she asked, crouching down beside her.

"I twisted my ankle," Jo groaned, massaging her ankle.

Amelia looked at it, and did a quick examination. "Doesn't look broken," she said. "Probably just a strain or sprain."

"Ow?" Jo asked.

"Bedtime for you," Amelia sighed, and looped one of Jo's arms around her neck, supporting her so she didn't have to put wait on her ankle.

"I'll get you some ice," Amelia thought out loud, "it should keep the swelling down."

Jo just grumbled away.

Amelia chuckled, softly. "Here, take a shot, it'll knock you out," she dug the flask out of her backpack.

Jo complied, and Amelia wandered out to the machine to grab some ice. The other girl had passed out when she returned, and she bound up Jo's ankle as carefully as possible. Screw the ice melting into the mattress. After drinking a few glasses of water to cut the potential hangover, Amelia tumbled into her own bed.

Jo stirred. "I never had a sister before," she mumbled, halfways into her pillow.

"Well, I'm not wearing one of those BFF heart necklaces, sweetheart," Amelia told her. But a few minutes later, when Jo stared snoring softly, she smiled.

"I never had a sister either."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Jo woke the next morning, her head and foot throbbed, but something deliciously warm wrapped around her ankle, easing the pain out of it.

"Mornin', sunshine," Amelia smiled at her. She was dressed, her hair was neatly braided, and she sat at the table poking at her computer.

Jo groaned. "What time is it?" Except it came out more like, "whattimezit?"

Amelia glanced at her watch. "A little after ten," she said. "Check-out's at eleven. How's the ankle?"

"Hurts," she mumbled.

"It swelled up some," Amelia told her. "Not too bad. If you stay off it for a few days, it'll be as right as rain."

"Mom's going to be pissed," she sighed, and sat up.

At eleven, Amelia drove out of the parking lot. "Want some breakfast to go?"

"Nah," Jo grumbled, curling up in the passenger seat. "Imma take a nap."

Amelia grabbed a burger at a drive through for breakfast, settled back, and turned the radio on softly so Jo wouldn't wake up. The road slipped away under the car, mesmerizing her. She had spent so much time in cars during her life. As a kid, whenever they moved to a new town, there was always a sense of hope. Every time, Paul told her it would be better. They were older, they would take care of each other. They could make it through being the new kids. And every time, in spite of herself, Amelia believed him. So in spite of the new town and the new crap it dished out to them, Amelia loved the car ride to the new town. Their father was usually nicer, the new opportunity helped. He drove his precious Firebird, and their mother drove the kids. Everything seemed new. Maybe car rides were just another way of running from her problems. Maybe she didn't care.

Jo woke up near the South Dakota border with a groan. Amelia tossed a water bottle at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Ahhh?" Jo replied, dubiously. "How are you still awake?"

Amelia turned and smiled widely at her. "Ice in the back seat, put some on your ankle."

"What are you Dean now?" Jo sighed. "All alcohol and goofy smiles and misdirections." She wrapped up her ankle with the ice. "Damn that feels good."

"Pain pills and a granola bar if you want them," Amelia told her.

"The hell did you find pain pills?" Jo asked, looking askance at Amelia.

She just smiled again, gazing off along the road.

Jo didn't argue, just downed the pills and munched the granola bar. "How far are we?"

"About two hours from Bobby's, I think."

"You're not tired?"

"I'm good."

"You got like two, three hours of sleep," Jo insisted. "On almost as much alcohol as I had."

"I had a nap yesterday, seriously I'm fine."

"Ok, whatever," she grunted. "God, you are Dean."

She was silent for the rest of the ride.

Amelia pulled up to Bobby's and parked. "Need a hand getting inside?" she asked.

"Um, yea probably," Jo winced as she opened her door and tried to step out.

"Hang on," Amelia hopped out, and walked around.

She gave Jo a shoulder to hang on to, and they made it to the stairs.

"Feel like hopping?"

Jo groaned in reply, and teetered a little bit as she braced to jump.

Amelia tensed, supporting her, then sighed and swept Jo off her feet.

"Really?" Jo squawked.

"You way like nothing," Amelia insisted, and carried her up the stairs.

"It really doesn't hurt that much," Jo argued.

Amelia dropped her off top on the porch. "Well, it hurts less then if you had tried hopping up. You're on the door side, grab it."

Bobby looked up from cooking as they stumbled into the kitchen like an awkward three legged race.

"Have fun girls?"

Jo grunted, Amelia smiled.

"Get hurt on the hunt Jo?"

Amelia laughed, Jo smacked her in the back of the head.

"Couch?"

"Sure."

Between the two of them, they navigated their way to the couch and Amelia deposited Jo onto it without ceremony.

"I'll grab a hot towel for your ankle," Amelia told her, "prop it up."

"You're kind of nice for being such a jerk," Jo told her.

"You're totally high on those pain pills right now, aren't you?"

Jo flopped down on the couch.

"Where's Ellen?" Amelia asked as she walked through the kitchen.

"Rigged up a wheelchair and ramp for her," Bobby said. "Went on a roll outside."

"Nice," Amelia grabbed a towel and ran hot water over it for a few minutes.

"Hunt went well," she told him. "Teenaged kid was goofing around at the elevator a year back, fell to his death. Lot of EMF on the bones."

"When'd Jo dink up her ankle?"

"Uh," Amelia glanced at Jo, passed out on the couch. "Tumbled down some stairs last night after we got back to the motel." Slightly more noble than balancing on one foot then tumbling.

She went back and wrapped up her ankle again. It really wasn't swollen too badly. Jo would be on her feet after two days.

"Don't give her any more pain pills," she told Bobby. "She's had enough for a while. I'm going for a run."

* * *

**Aw, nice sisterly bonding! Apologies for making Jo something of a lightweight, _I _thought it would be kind of ironic. :) Hope you enjoyed!**


	12. A Hunterful Christmas (pt 1)

**Long chapter here. This one and the next will mainly be Christmas at Bobby's, so be prepared for eggnog, presents, and holiday sentimentality because God knows there's not enough happiness in the show. :)**

* * *

Two weeks later, Amelia was crawling the walls. Ellen and Jo exemplified every single connotation of the term passive-aggressive. Even though Jo hadn't been injured on the hunt itself, Ellen was still mad she had been hurt. Bobby and Amelia treaded lightly around them, shooting sympathetic glances at each other when the mother and daughter started in on their perpetual argument. Amelia took to running ten miles each day, and helped Bobby work on twenty different cars. Anything to be out of the house and away from the squabbling women.

She continued her reading in whatever hideyholes she could find. The panic room became a sort of sanctuary. Ellen couldn't navigate the stairs with her leg and Bobby gave her space. Jo wandered down sometimes when she had had enough of the tense silence or loud arguments. They talked, sometimes, when Amelia was in the mood. Other times, Jo found her own niche and cracked open one of Bobby's old books. On the weekends, they went to the bars and in the space of two nights became a very efficient hustling team. Jo had the good looks to lure half-drunk guys in, and either she would take them out in poker, or Amelia would hustle their money away at pool.

Then one day, Ellen and Jo made up. Neither Bobby nor Amelia actually witnessed it happen, but when they came in for supper after target practice, Ellen was sitting at the table laughing, and Jo stirred some form of hamburger and pasta on the stove. The whole house felt different. Jo and Ellen laughed together over supper, even Bobby cracked a few jokes at Jo's cooking. Amelia laughed and smiled, but didn't talk much.

Two days later she left for college.

She leaned on the hood of the old junker car Bobby had loaned her to take back to college. She might not be overly fond of the Firebird, but no way she was going to subject it to a college campus.

"I guess this is goodbye for now," she said. Everything she owned was packed in the back seat, plus a few books Bobby had loaned her to continue her training. She had an apartment through the track team, so she didn't have to worry about campus police freaking out over her gun and knives. No way she was leaving them behind, not after what she knew.

"Don't be a stranger now," he said, gruffly, standing on the porch with his hands stuffed in his vest pockets. "Come back for Thanksgiving and Christmas if you want. Jo and Ellen might be able to make it."

She nodded. "Yea, we'll see. Not sure what the track schedule looks like."

"Take care of yourself, Amelia," he told her. Bobby had called her Amy a few times, but eventually settled on Amelia.

"You too, Bobby," she said. "Thanks for everything, again."

"Bye Lia," Jo waved. "We'll drop in if we're in the area." Jo had experimented with Amy as well, then she had discovered that Lia was an appropriate nickname and stuck with that.

"See ya, Jo," Amelia smiled at her, and waved and dipped her head at Ellen. "Take care!"

The junker started with fits and sputters, and she pulled out onto the road.

"Here I am," she sang to herself, "on the road again..." Metallica maybe? "There I go, turn that page." Definitely Metallica. Dean would probably approve.

The track coach was not pleased with her when she got back. Technically it wasn't required that student athletes attend summer camps, but it kept you in the coach's good graces. Her times on the track shut him up.

Studying for classes was almost laughably easy to her now, after spending her summer bingeing on supernatural research. Bobby's method of research redefined cramming. Between track meets and tests and keeping up with the information Bobby sent her, the time flew by. Jo and Ellen stopped by for a day on their way to Louisiana on a potential witch case. Other than that, she didn't see anyone but the normal college crowd. She barely saw the few friends she had, devoting her free time to studying the supernatural. She had never really fit in, and she no longer even felt like a part of that world any more.

When Christmas break started, she took a road trip north in the junker car. She took a few days to drive to Bobby's, hitting a few bars on the way up and hustling some guys out of their money for the heck of it. Amelia arrived the day before Christmas Eve.

"Hey Bobby, I'm here," she shouted as she walked in, toting her backpack and duffel, pillow in her arms.

He clumped up from the basement. "Amelia," he gave her a rare smile. "Welcome back. Tidied up the panic room for ya. Had'ta use it when you were gone."

"Thanks," she smiled back, and handed him the package in her hand. "Merry Christmas, there's like seven or eight t-bone steaks in there. Didn't want them to melt."

"You didn't have to get anything," he took them, and smiled again in his gruff way. "But thanks! Have to grill them up some time. Jo and Ellen should get here today. Still not sure the Winchesters are coming. They're not much for holidays."

Amelia stowed her things in the panic room, which smelled strangely of soap and cleaner. But the rest of the house felt comforting, even through the smell of whiskey and dust. She deposited herself on the couch, paging absently through a book on Greek mythology. In Greek. Her knowledge of the language had slipped during the semester, but she could grasp some of the information.

Jo and Ellen arrived later that afternoon with hugs and Christmas cheer. Amelia was only slightly terrified. The house began to get too close for her the next day. She couldn't run, not with two feet of snow on the ground. So she couldn't employ her one release. Amelia and Jo started to squabble, in a mostly lighthearted way, just to pass the time.

They sat in the panic room that evening, Amelia cross-legged on the bed, Jo backwards on a chair, both slightly buzzed off of Bobby's rather impressive eggnog.

"No way you ate three pizzas," Jo argued.

"Hey, I was hungry," Amelia retorted. "It was after a track meet and no one else wanted them, so I chowed down."

"But three pizzas," Jo couldn't get past it, "in an hour. I've said it before, but you really are Dean."

"Speaking of Dean," Amelia smirked, "did you hear that they're on their way here now?"

Jo just glared at her.

"Dean and Jo, sitting by the Christmas tree," Amelia improvised, "G-A-Z-I-N-G intoeachother'seyes!"

She bolted for the stairs as Jo launched towards her off her chair.

"G-A-Z-I-N-G!" Amelia continued to sing as she skipped up the stairs, full speed, danced around Bobby and Ellen in the kitchen, and ran flat out through the front door and jumped off the porch out into the falling snow.

Jo followed her every step of the way, hot on her heels, but stopped on the porch, glaring at her, but she couldn't quite wipe the annoyed smile off her face.

"You're a jerk," she complained.

Amelia just laughed, it felt so good to be outside, even if she was just wearing socks. She spun, face to the sky catching snowflakes on her tongue.

"I think ya've had too much eggnog," Bobby shouted out through the open door.

Jo grabbed a handful of snow, packed it into a nice snowball, and chucked it at the oblivious Amelia, who got an entire face full of snow.

"Blegh!" she exclaimed, spitting out a mouthful and glaring daggers at Jo.

At that moment, the Impala purred up behind her.

"Bad time?" Dean laughed, climbing out of the car and leaning against the open door as she raked the snow out of her hair.

Amelia grinned at Jo, and started mouthing _G-A-Z-I-N-G_. She barely managed to duck the next snowball. Sam chuckled, until Dean's snowball caught him in the chest. His laugh changed to a face of utter disbelief and indigence in under a tenth of a second.

And that's how, without shoes or a coat, Amelia participated in her first all-hunter snowball fight. Alliances were made, betrayed, and reformed. Colorful insults were used the likes of which Amelia had never heard before. Bobby stuck his head out for a second to make sure no one was dying, and four perfectly aimed snowballs plastered him with snow. Amelia personally thought she heard him lock the door after he slammed it shut. It ended when the brothers, being boys, wrestled each other to a stalemate in the deepest snow. Jo and her just watched, and they eventually emerged, panting, cold and snow encased. Dean was laughing, Sam seemed unimpressed, until he glanced at the snow and saw a perfect snow angel where Dean had originally pushed him in.

"Hey Dean," he pointed with a half-smile, "it's a snow-Cas."

They shared a look for a moment, then the four stumbled into the kitchen, with numb hands and feet, trying to brush off the snow that had worked its way into seemingly every crease of their clothes.

"Cold," Jo's teeth chattered, as she rubbed her arms trying to work some heat back into them.

Bobby squawked as snow cascaded onto his floor, making puddles everywhere.

"God, I would kill for some hot cocoa," Dean muttered.

"Merry Christmas, sweetie," Ellen put a warm mug into his hands. "Bobby got a little generous with the whiskey."

"Ah, you're the best Ellen," he gave his trademark grin. "Warms you up in more ways then one."

Ellen handed the rest of them mugs.

"Well, technically," Sam started, "Alcohol cools you off. It's a-"

"Sammy," Dean scolded him, "shut up and drink your cocoa."

Sam gave him a look, but took a sip. "This is great, thanks Ellen."

"Glad you boys could come," she smiled at him.

A brief awkward silence followed, where everyone smiled sappily at each other over their mugs of spiked cocoa. Like some freaking Christmas card, Amelia thought. She peeled off pretty quick to go change clothes and grab a blanket.

When she went back upstairs, Bobby's old beat up TV was set up in the living room, and Dean and Sam were having a nice brotherly argument.

"It's a classic, Dean," Sam glared at him. "You love movies!"

"Angels are dicks, man," Dean pouted, "I don't want to watch a movie about them."

"Can't break tradition," Ellen patted him on the back sympathetically.

"Yea, Dean, all around the world, people gather in front of the television for this. It's something normal people do."

"Hell of a long movie," Bobby grumbled to himself. "But if we have to do it-" he topped off his flask.

They jockeyed for spots on the couch (Dean and Jo conveniently ended up sitting next to each other, with Ellen on the end to shoot Dean icy glances if he got too familiar), the rest sitting in the squashy old recliners Bobby had dug up from God knows where.

Amelia curled up in her La-Z Boy with a fresh cup of hot chocolate and a thick blanket as the opening credits of "It's a Wonderful Life" played across the screen.

Dean griped his way through the movie, but when Clarence granted George Bailey his wish of never having been born, he shrugged. "Well, they got that part right," he allowed. "Because angels are dicks!" he yelled at the television. Jo patted his hand with a small smile. Ellen gave her daughter a tired look. Sam smirked.

The movie dragged on. Sam seemed to be the only one really paying attention. Jo and Dean started to steal glances into each other's eyes, to Amelia's vast amusement. Then Ellen and Bobby started to share glances, too, looking like parents proud of their children. Amelia endured it for a while, but eventually she just couldn't take it anymore. She slipped away when no one seemed to be paying attention. She wandered downstairs, but there was no way she was going to sleep. She grabbed a beer, and took a seat on the workbench in the basement.

Her first Christmas without her family, and it was more of a Christmas than she had ever experienced with her own family. She laughed to herself, bitterly, taking a drink. And, in spite of herself, a tear rolled down her cheek. Sam chose that moment to come down the stairs. He paused when he saw her, sitting hugging her knees to her chest.

"Mind if I join you?"

She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. He walked over to the bench, and hopped up beside her.

"Got a little, too," she spun a hand in the air, "too," she finished lamely.

Because he wasn't Dean, Sam didn't make any comment that she had essentially just said "tutu."

"Coupley?" he suggested.

"Something like that," she sipped her beer.

"How are you doing, Amelia?" he asked, after a few minutes.

She didn't give him any reply.

"First Christmas without your family. It must be tough."

She laughed for real this time, bitterly. "Christmases were hell."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sam said.

"I mean, sure I miss my brother," she couldn't take another awkward silence. "But other than that..." Crap, she ran out of words.

"I lost Dean for four months one time," Sam didn't let the silence drag on, thankfully. "He was just... gone. Dead. I was a wreck."

"We looked out for each other," Amelia gripped her knees tightly. "He was only a year older, but he always took care of me. When we were kids, he'd-" her face wrinkled up, as she tried not to cry. She had never talked about her brother, since he died. Not to Bobby, or Jo, not to any of her friends. She had locked it away inside of herself. She didn't cry, not since she was a little kid.

When she didn't continue, Sam started talking. "When we were kids, our dad would leave us alone for weeks at a time. Dean was maybe eight, I was four when he started leaving on hunts. Dean would make Spaghetti-o's in the microwave and PB&Js for me. And at night, he'd sleep with a gun under his pillow, always looking out for me. Hell, Dean raised me, not my dad. I know what you're going through, Amelia. Please don't go through it alone. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want, but Bobby, Jo, someone, please."

She didn't say anything for a while, but then she started talking, in a very soft voice, and she couldn't seem to stop. She told him about when her and Paul had been kids, with barely enough food to eat, but not knowing the difference and enjoying the long summer days together. Learning all the constellations in the sky because they stayed up all night. Attending three or four schools during the school year. Paul insisting she do her homework, even though the table smelled like rotten milk and the chair creaked. Bad motel beds and never having the chance to make any friends before their father lost their job and they moved on. Paul, stepping in to take a beating for her, even egging their father on so he would forget any offense Amelia had committed in his anger against his son. Trying to patch up Paul afterward, that's when she first wanted to be a nurse, so she would be able to stop his pain. Paul, working two jobs to put himself through college and keep a two room apartment so she wouldn't have to live with their parents anymore. The pride in his eyes when she received a full scholarship. Paul, encouraging her to keep studying when she was struggling with classes. Paul's wedding, and the newlywed's tiny house where the couch was always open for her. Paul, dangling and bloody, strigoi ripping at him, but looking in her eyes, not letting her drift off into the welcoming blackness. Paul. Paul.

"We were just visiting for the weekend," she said, bitterly. "Mom's birthday. That's the stupid thing. One weekend out of the whole year, and-"

Her lips pressed together, and she started spinning Paul's wedding band on her finger. Sam touched her shoulder. She tensed, but didn't move away, so he patted her shoulder very, very gently. That's when she finally lost it. After five months, her walled-up emotions broke through, and she couldn't push the torrent back, even though she felt stupid for crying at Sam's gesture of comfort. A few tears at first, then Sam shifted closer, looping his arm around her back in a comforting gesture, murmuring something no doubt meant to be soothing. She sobbed against Sam's shoulder, shaking with the strength of her sobs, and he gently held her from toppling off the workbench. She mourned Paul, and the ache she still felt without his presence. The horror of the vampires and the empty feeling when everything she had ever known seemed to vanish. For all the times she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming.

After what seemed like forever, she gradually stopped crying. She never stopped feeling ridiculous for crying in the first place, however. She glanced at Sam, a huge dark stain of tears and snot covering his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about," she gestured to his shoulder.

He smiled. "Hey, I sort of pushed you into it, you don't have to apologize. "

Amelia wiped her face off. "Sure, ok." She felt like an idiot for blubbering all over Sam. "Movie has to be over," she said. "I'm going to sleep."

She glanced up and their eyes met for a second. Sam gave her a quick smile. "Probably a good idea. See you tomorrow, Amy."

He stood, brushing off the back of his pants, and gave her another smile. "Night." He walked up the stairs, and Amelia went to the panic room, locking from the inside, and crashed on the bed, clothes and all. For once, she didn't have nightmares when she slept.

* * *

**Aw, Sam being all caring and cute! Hope you don't mind the chick flick moment too much. And no, I'm not trying to set them up as a couple. Sam just is the only one who will actually really talk about feelings and such.**


	13. A Hunterful Christmas (pt 2)

**squidgy78: Thanks so much! I fully intended to have Dean be in this story more, but Amelia is being selfish! Maybe I can reclaim the story back from her.**

**JoBethH: As always, thank you so much for reading! :) Your cheerful words mean a lot. **

**Ladygaladrim: Thank you so much! I spent some time trying to pin down Bobby's accent, I'm so glad you noticed. :)**

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Amelia woke up the next morning, face buried in her spit-soaked pillow.

"Gah," she commented to the empty room as she wiped her face again and scrubbed her hands through her hair. She glanced at her watch. Eleven. Wow, she hadn't slept that late in forever. Amelia put on a clean pair of pants and a nice t-shirt, and put her hair back in a french braid. She took a breath, and walked up the stairs into a scene of kitchen chaos.

Sam and Dean struggled with some yellow stuff on the table, Jo mixed up something on the counter, and Bobby and Ellen stirred various pots on the stove. Everyone milled around, bumping into each other and laughing. Amelia froze in the doorway, almost inclined to retreat to the panic room again.

Then Jo caught sight of her. "Merry Christmas Lia!" she grinned, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Gah," Amelia yelped as Jo's arms encircled her, but after a second, she tentatively reached up and patted Jo on the back. "Merry Christmas?"

Jo stepped back, and smiled at her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Uh," Amelia itched her head. "Really well, actually."

"Could use a hand here, princesses," Bobby grunted.

Jo made a face, but returned to chopping up fruit.

"What do you need help with, Bobby?"

He glanced at Sam and Dean. "I think the boys need a little help with the pies."

Amelia studied the stuff on the table for a minute before a realization struck her. "Wait," she gasped, "that's _pie dough?_"

They had it smeared all over the table, themselves, and the rolling pin. She burst out laughing, harder than she had since Paul died. Dean just glared at her. She wiped a tear off her face, gave another chuckle, and pitched in. A little over an hour later, they settled down to ham and all the fixings. To Amelia it felt like they ate for hours, laughing and teasing each other, nibbling on the ham, trying to eat Jo's fruit salad with a straight face. When the pies came out of the oven (Amelia had helped the boys make the mangled dough into something resembling a pie) Amelia couldn't eat another bite. Dean, on the other hand, even though he had eaten more than anyone else, beamed like a little kid and dug in happily. Amelia initiated the dishes, since she had escaped from helping with most of the cooking. Ellen pitched in beside her.

"Merry Christmas, Amelia," she said. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I'm glad you could come. Makes it feel more like a family."

Gifts were given sporadically throughout the day, half the time as an ambush. Dean would wander by, then a rather badly wrapped present would sail through the air towards someone. Other gifts were left around the house, anonymously, with a name addressed on them. Half the fun was guessing who had gifted it.

Amelia received a comfy new sweatshirt, she correctly guessed Jo, and a fully stocked charm necklace that turned out to be pieced together from everyone, Bobby donating the lion's share. Dean gave everyone socks with little bottles of different flavored vodka in them. Sam got the pink, cake-flavored one, of course, and a pack of hair scrunchies. Amelia had pieced together some random gifts on the way up from college, per Bobby's advice. Ear plugs and a pomegranate for Sam. Dean took slight offense at the fact that Amelia thought Sam needed ear plugs in his life. She had gotten him a pack of fake mustaches and a pack of Oreos, though, so he warmed back up pretty quick.

Ellen took forever to guess Amelia for one of her gifts, a hex bag. Not Bobby, Sam, or Dean. Amelia had the original idea, and Jo had helped her with it. Dual hex bags linked to each other, one for Jo one for Ellen. A nail attached to it by a string would always rotate towards the other bag, so as long as they had the hex bags on them, they would always know where the other person was.

Ellen gave her a quick hug when she finally cornered Amelia and heard the purpose of the bag, and straight away hung the bag around her neck. Jo already wore hers. Amelia had already given Bobby his steaks, but she gave him a bottle of semi-nice whiskey in addition. Hustling certainly came in handy.

At one point in the afternoon, Amelia stood at the sink sipping some water when she heard a rustle behind her and a few gasps. She spun, and choked on her water. A man stood in the living room, wearing a beige trenchcoat.

"I have come to wish you a joyous celebration of the anniversary of the birth of the one you call Christ," he said in a gravelly monotone, "even though the actual day is not directly analogous to the current method of counting the days since the Jewish calender was based upon-"

"Merry Christmas, Cas!" Dean cut him off with a laugh and a smile, and Sam, who happened to be closest, gave him a one armed hug.

"I believe there is a tradition of exchanging gifts," Cas said, like they were a foreign culture he had studied. He handed Sam a bulky, oddly shaped package wrapped in what looked like leaves.

"We haven't seen you in months, what's up?"

"The angels are still busy trying to-" he stopped, and looked piercingly at Amelia who had just choked again at the word 'angel', seeming to realize her presence for the first time. Bobby had explained angels in passing.

"Who is she?"

"That's Amelia, she's a new hunter," Bobby said, "I'll vouch for her."

Cas studied her with narrowed blue eyes. "Nonetheless it is not appropriate to discuss such matters. I was not being prudent in my joy at seeing you again." Amelia saw Dean snort silently behind Cas. "I have been busy."

"We're glad you could come, Cas," Sam told him. "Christmas is for family, and you're family, too."

"Can you stay?" Dean asked him.

He shook his head. "Regrettably, no. There are too few of my brethren remaining, we all have much work to do. Already I have stayed longer than I intended to. Goodbye. And.. Merry Christmas."

"Cas!" Dean started to get up from the couch, but Castiel had already disappeared. Just disappeared. One second he stood in the middle of the living room, then with a rustle he was gone.

Amelia choked on her water a third time, and had to bend over the sink coughing.

The package contained a half-melted chocolate Easter bunny that even Dean wouldn't eat and a few generic glass Christmas tree ornaments.

"Well," Jo ventured, "it's the thought that counts?"

Bobby started laughing so hard he had to sit down.

No one offered any explanation to Amelia about the man, whoever he was, and she didn't ask.

That evening, cuddled up in her new sweatshirt and cozy socks, fingering the old charms on her new necklace, sipping another round of Bobby's now famous eggnog, Amelia smiled. Wide. So wide it hurt her mouth a little. It had been a strange day, what with flying socks, poker, and horrifyingly sentimental Christmas movies playing in the background. But it had been a Christmas. Sure, there had been arguments and insults, Dean had been almost insufferable and Sam had bitch-faced a truly incredible amount of times. But no one had sat in deathly silence for fear of a beating, no one plastered on a fake smile for appearances, no one stomped off to their room even. People fought and made up, usually, hilariously, by fake fighting. Apparently nothing said "I love you" more than arguing for two hours over a completely nonsensical topic.

So by midnight, halfway through an awful Christmas horror movie, Amelia's stomach hurt from eating too much and laughing so much at jokes and the stupid movie. Sure maybe the house felt a little small. She could bear it for a few days. That night, for the second time, she slept without nightmares.

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**Awww, Cas! I had to bring him in somehow, even if he really doesn't come into the story. :) Hope you enjoyed the Christmas happiness, as usual in Supernatural, it's not going to last long... *suspenseful music plays***

**I'll update again soon, thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**New chapter! Done with the Christmas celebration, back to the same old grind of hunting. Sorry for any typos, I wrote this on a migraine, so expect some small edits after I look over it and correct any mistakes I missed. :) (Fun fact about my migraines, in addition to my eyesight going all fuzzy, I lose some of my ability to comprehend words. Great for typing, lemme tell you.) I'll let you know if I make any major changes, but it shouldn't be much of a difference at all.**

* * *

Over the next few days, Amelia kept her eye on Dean and Jo, watching for any sign of their affection. Aside from a few brief occurrences of hand-holding, however, even her sharp eyes couldn't catch anything. That may have had to do with Ellen's supervision, however. At night when Ellen and Bobby had turned in and only the younger hunters stayed up, they tended to become a little more familiar, but overall Amelia was disappointed in her observance.

The Winchesters stayed two more days before they came across a hunt and left. Two days of laughing at stupid jokes and drinking eggnog, staying up way too late and arguing over who had left their dishes in the sink. All in all, an argumentative, enjoyable holiday.

Bobby taught her how to use a slim-jim over break. She had over a hundred cars to practice on out in the salvage yard. Unfortunately, few of the cars started anymore, so she couldn't practice hot wiring very much. By the end of she could still break into any car in the salvage lot, and had the basics of hot wiring down pat. Neither Sam nor Amelia ever brought up the night in the basement where she had bawled.

The next semester passed even quicker, and before Amelia had much chance to miss the musty old house, she arrived back again next spring, singing Kansas at the top of her lungs. Her knowledge of the supernatural had slipped some during the months away from hard research, so Bobby put her to work right away, reading huge old books and sifting through conflicting lore to assess a situation properly. She helped him cast a few dozen iron and silver rounds and fit them to handgun cartridges for use as needed. After reading the demon book, at Bobby's suggestion, she got her first tattoo: an anti-possession sigil on her back over her heart. She had an anti-possession charm on her necklace, of course, but that was much less reliable and could be lost or removed.

Amelia went along with Ellen and Jo on a few minor salt and burns, proving herself a good all-around hunter. She could talk well, obtaining information from witnesses, and since she looked at the whole experience from an outsider's perspective, she had some novel ideas about hunting. Most importantly, she could keep her wits about her in stressful, dangerous situations. By the end of her third hunt with the Harvelles, Ellen started to give her some slack, not badgering her every step of the way.

The anniversary of Paul's death came, and she kept his memory by not getting drunk, as much as she wanted to. Paul wouldn't want that, not after a childhood of tiptoeing around their drunk father.

In July, Amelia scribbled down some information from the internet, and took it to Bobby, who was taking apart an engine. She handed him the sheet without a word, and he glanced over her bullet points.

"Demon signs?" he looked at her.

"Looks like," she swallowed. "I noticed the first about a week ago, and they've been picking up since then."

"Good work," Bobby studied the sheet again. "This many signs, has to be quite a few demons in town. Winchesters are a couple states over. Harvelles are a few days out. It has to be something big, better call them all up and start packing."

He wiped off his oily hands, and headed for the house.

"Are you coming?" she asked, walking after him. Bobby rarely left, but if it was a big hunt, maybe he would come.

He shook his head, "I've had enough of demons in my life. Exorcism spell."

Amelia rattled one off perfectly as she gathered things up from being scattered around the house.

Bobby started calling numbers, but continued to bark things at her.

"Holy water."

She tapped a flask inside a pocket in her jacket.

"Rosary."

"Not on me," she said.

"Get one. Get a few. Holy water incantation?"

Amelia fired it off.

"Take extra salt, always have some on you. Backpack, duffel, whatever. Never go anywhere without it. Something to draw traps with?"

Three cans of spray paint, and two markers inside her jacket.

In fifteen minutes, Amelia stood at the door with a duffel bag overflowing with anti-demon objects, and a salt gun in her hand.

"Remember, demons are lyin' suns-a-bitches, they'll say anything to get a reaction from you. Be very, very careful, and don't go anywhere alone. Follow the Winchesters on this one, they have more experience with demons than anyone. They'll be there late tomorrow, and they said they'll get another motel room for you and the Harvelles."

"I'll be careful, Bobby," she told him, and he nodded. "See you in a few days!"

She took the Firebird. When she had hunted with the Harvelles she had driven it once or twice. Bobby had refitted the trunk so it had a false bottom she could hide her gear in. Amelia was actually starting to be fond of the car, in spite of the hideous gas mileage and the memories of her father. It could certainly purr down the highway like nobody's business.

She pulled into the small city very late the next night, yawning widely, and drove to the little motel the Winchesters had chosen. Room 113, the text had said. Duffel and backpack slung over her shoulder, Amelia knocked at the door. Be prepared for anything, Bobby had said, so she had an open vial of holy water in her hand, just in case a demon answered the door. A bleary Sam opened it instead.

"Hey, Amy, come on in," he said. "Don't break the salt line."

She stepped over it, thereby proving she was not a demon, into the dark motel room. Sam closed the door behind her, and checked to make sure the line was still intact.

Dean snored on the far bed, still in his clothes, face buried in his pillow.

"We got the room next door, but the Harvelles aren't here yet," Sam said quietly, to not wake up Dean.

"So couch for me?" Amelia yawned, setting her things down on the floor.

"You can take the other bed if you want. But with us, if it's alright. Bobby said to look after you."

She shrugged. "I'm tired enough to sleep on the floor. Take the bed, I'll be fine."

For a second, she thought he would argue, then he nodded, eyes already half closed, and collapsed back into his bed. She brushed her teeth and crashed fully dressed on the seedy couch, trying not to think of all the people who had sat on it. Hopefully just sat. She shuddered, but sleep took her in a matter of minutes.

Amelia woke with a crick in her back. She heard the shower running in the background, and checked the time. Six-thirty. She had gotten up after less sleep, but her head still felt fuzzy. Sam, sprawled on his bed staring blankly at his computer, glanced over when she stirred.

"How was the couch?"

She yawned. "Divine. A little cramped even for me, though. You wouldn't be able to fit half of you onto it."

He nodded absently, looking at his computer again. "You can grab a shower after Dean, if you want, then getting breakfast."

"Sounds good," she stretched, trying to work the kink out of her back, and rooted around in her bag for a change of clothes.

Her shower felt wonderful, after a day's worth of grime from the road, and she came out feeling like a new person even though Dean griped that she had taken more than ten minutes.

"Takes a while to wash these flowing locks," she informed him, even though her hair wasn't too much longer than Sam's. Sam, concentrating on his computer, paid no attention to either of them.

"Breakfast time, Sammy," Dean chucked a dirty sock at him.

Sam jerked, made a face, and tossed the sock off of him. But he put down his computer, disentangled his long legs from the sheets, and followed them to the Impala.

Dean ate a truly incredible amount for breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee, everything. Sam stuck to a cup of coffee and some toast, leafing through the papers he had printed off. Amelia kept pace with Dean for a while, she hadn't really eaten the day before, but he pulled ahead with the pancakes and eventually left her in the dust. They didn't talk the case during breakfast, too many ears in the diner. Dean teased Sam, who largely ignored him after years of practice, and he moved on to teasing Amelia, who also didn't bite. They ended up eating their food in silence, watching the news on TV or reading a paper. After breakfast, Dean drove them to the motel to hash out their plan of attack.

"How do you even track demons?" Amelia couldn't help but ask.

Sam glanced up at her. "Well, since we are definitely not using ourselves as bait," he looked at Dean pointedly, "just approach it like any other case. Do the research, ask around about the omens, or if people have seen anything strange. Without trying to attract too much attention, obviously."

"Awesome," said Dean and Amelia in unison.

Jo and Ellen arrived that afternoon, and pitched in with the research. Without her daily run, Amelia began to get cooped between the two motel rooms. The brothers left to interview some of the witnesses, and the women ordered in cheap Chinese food. Amelia had claimed the couch again, and she lay sprawled over it, attacking her noodles with chopsticks as she tracked the demonic omens and stuck pins with dates into the town map on the wall. They had found omens going back for over two weeks, scattered with no recognizable pattern. Mutilated animals, organs missing. One person in the hospital with amnesia, potential post-possession case that Dean and Sam were interviewing. Lightening storm.

"What do they want here?" Jo sighed, after four hours of reading one of the local newspapers online. "Other than Mrs. Erikson's date cookie recipe, which does look pretty delicious."

Ellen rubbed her eyes. "No clue. We'll have to check the library tomorrow for town history. See if there's any local lore or old churches or something."

"Could be some artifact, or somebody that knows something," Jo muttered. "They could be after anything, and we have no idea what it is or how to stop them."

"Just as long as we stick together, they're not going to be able to hurt us. We can keep researching, find out what their end game is, and figure out how to stop them."

Amelia broke open a fortune cookie. "Now is a good time to seek new employment," it read. "Probably not a bad idea," Amelia told her fortune.

"What was that Lia?" Jo looked up from her computer.

Amelia ignored her.

Dean and Sam showed up maybe a half hour later, still in suits and ties. They came through the connecting doors between the rooms, and looked at the progress the girls had made. There were more pins on the map and omens taped up on the wall, but there was still no visible pattern.

Dean sat on one of the beds. "The guy was a bust," he loosened his tie with a grimace. "He didn't even remember the day he was possessed, if he even was possessed."

Sam stared at the map, eyebrows scrunched up, arms crossed.

"Well, I need a drink. Anyone else want to come?"

"Come on, Lia," Jo bounced off the bed, flicking her hair back. "I could use a break. We all could."

"I'm staying here," Sam told them, never taking his eyes off the map. "I'm going to go over the research some more."

"Whatever, Sammy," Dean walked back to their room, shrugging out of his suit coat.

"I'm out, too," Ellen said with a yawn. "Turning in early. Stay sharp."

"We will." Jo turned to Amelia, who hadn't budged from her couch. "Come on, grab a jacket, let's go."

Jo went to the bathroom and quickly redid her hair, throwing on a close-cut flannel shirt over her tank top. As much as Amelia didn't want to slog through the research, she wanted to be a third wheel even less. What the hell, she could always hustle pool. She extricated herself from the couch and stretched. She did need to get out of the motel. The evening air outside smelled wonderful to her after a day of being cramped in the motel room with old pizza and dirty sock smell.

"So no luck with the best lead," Jo said. "We could try to piece together where he might have been possessed."

"It's a long shot at best," Dean grunted, "but we might be able to find something."

The bar Dean chose seemed relatively seedy from the outside, and downright tetanus inducing from the inside. Dean ordered his double whiskey with a smile for the busty bartender, and Jo dropped down on the barstool beside him. Amelia sat by Jo, and got a beer for herself, on Dean's tab of course. And another. Two more, and they wandered over to the pool table. After three drinks, Jo hung on Dean's arm, Amelia obviously the third wheel, and already slightly tipsy.

Jo wasn't terribly good at pool, so Dean and Amelia played. As the expression goes, Dean showed her how to play.

"You're no gentleman," a decent looking follow (for the location, that was) observed, after watching half the game. "Beating the poor girl like that."

"He is kind of a jerk," Amelia pouted.

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink," the stranger offered. "Three's a crowd, right?"

"I want to get better at this," Amelia insisted, rolling the pool balls back into the triangle.

"Fine, I win, I'll buy you a drink," he smiled, grabbing a cue.

Amelia smiled back. "Sure."

Jo and Dean wandered back to the bar. Amelia would have loved to watch them interact, but as she was already on her way to being drunk, she had to actually pay attention to suckering the guy out of his money.

"What happens if I win?" she wondered.

He just laughed. "I'll still buy you a drink."

He won with three of Amelia's balls still on the table. She pouted, but got her next beer, and drank half of it before she realized. Dean drifted by, and goaded the man into placing money on his next game with Amelia, saying she needed a little incentive. By Amelia's glare, she was pretty close to ramming her pool cue through his heart.

She barely won the next game, and celebrated with another beer. One of the guy's friends rotated in then, to rescue his buddy's money: double or nothing. The original guy, confident he had Amelia on the string, hung beside her giving her advice and alcohol. Two hours later Amelia had soaked the circle of friends for something over three hundred dollars. Not a huge load, considering the time investment, but then she had also suckered them out of a constant supply of alcohol the entire time, and hadn't pissed off anyone spectacularly.

"You're not a bad player," Dean told her, as they walked back to the motel, Jo leaning ever so slightly on Dean's shoulder, Amelia wandering along with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Jo was in decent shape yet, but she would probably have a headache in the morning. Dean had drank way more than Amelia, but she could hardly tell the difference in his behavior. She could already feel the hangover next morning, but at the moment she was too chill to really care.

"We'll have to play for serious some time," Amelia told him, "you had some lucky shots."

"I've been hustling for years," Dean informed her.

"So have I," she reminded him. "The first time I played pool I sat on the edge of the table because I couldn't see over the side."

"First time I played pool I was still in diapers," Dean retorted.

She laughed. "So you wore diapers until you were like five, six?" Amelia teased.

To her surprise, Dean just laughed. "I kind of walked into that one, didn't I."

Jo smiled up at him from his shoulder. When Dean glanced down and smiled at her, Amelia mimed puking to Jo.

"Trouble keeping your liquor down?" Jo asked her with an innocent smile.

Dean glanced over. Amelia blinked up at the stars as she walked along, a serene look on her face.

After making sure Jo was safely stowed away in her bed, she curled up and hugged her pillow, Dean nodded good night at Amelia so as to not wake Ellen, and returned to his room. Amelia rubbed her buzzing head. She really did hate hangovers. After a very long shower, she drank as much water as she possible could, and opened her computer back up. When the screen started to un-fuzzy an hour or so later, she drank another glass of water, and crashed on the wonderful, glorious couch.


	15. Chapter 15

**JBethH: I did want to write them all going on more hunts, but it would have made the story so much longer. There is a couple more though, don't fear. I might throw a couple hunts in for an epilogue, too. :)**

* * *

Amelia jerked to consciousness the next morning after a nightmare, and after laying still for a few minutes, listening to heart pound, she took stock of the hangover. A little before eight. Dry mouth, head and eyes ached a little. Really not too bad for a hangover. She ran a hand over her face, and stood without too much difficulty. Quiet voices came from the next room. Jo still lay on her bed, flopped on her stomach with her face plastered into the pillow, snoring lightly. After peeing what felt like five gallons, Amelia threw on a clean set of clothes, drank a few glasses of water, and wandered into the Winchester's room. Her limbs felt a little heavy, but with a little activity that would pass. Ellen and Sam sat at the table, poring over the research. Both beds were rumpled, and she heard the shower running.

"Good morning," Ellen gave her an amused smile when Amelia shuffled in yawning. "How are you feeling?"

Amelia shrugged. "Not too bad, really. How's it going?"

"Glad to see someone had a little sense not to get plastered last night," Sam muttered.

She smirked. "I was looking over everything last night. I think we should check out the two historic register places. One's a church, the other one's an old mansion. Could be some old artifact or something. I know it's a long shot, but if you haven't found anything else..." Amelia shrugged.

"That's what we were thinkin'," Ellen nodded. "Want to split up, guys and girls?"

Sam shrugged. "Sounds good. You want to take the mansion? They'll probably have a bunch of displays, would be better to have more people."

"What are we even looking for?" Ellen sighed.

Sam rubbed his eyes. "I have no idea. An artifact, a place of power, a person? The demons could be after anything."

"Well, pack plenty of holy water and salt. Maybe we can get lucky."

"When has a hunter ever been lucky," Sam brooded.

Dean came out of the bathroom, wet hair in spikes, wearing jeans and a long sleeved tee. He squinted at Amelia. "How are you vertical?"

She grinned at him. "How are you this morning, Dean?"

His eyes were a little bloodshot, more than hers, and he seemed to avoid the bright light shining from the window. "How are you this morning, Amelia?" He mocked her bright tone.

"Aw, no better come back than that? You _must_ be feeling it."

"Seriously, though, how are you not puking in the bathroom?"

"I didn't even drink as much as you did," Amelia shrugged.

"Yea, but it's also _me,_" Dean insisted. "You must have a hell of a tolerance."

She shrugged again. "Yea, well, we'll have to have a pool rematch sometime anyways. We can settle it once and for all."

"I'll wake Jo up," Ellen said, and then sighed.

"Good luck Ellen," Dean made it sound like she was going on a dangerous hunt. Maybe she was.

Ellen walked to the other room, and patted her daughter on the shoulder. "Jo? Wake up Jo, time to get up."

They heard a muffled groan. Then, "oh, God, my head" in a slurred voice.

Amelia and Dean smirked at each other. Sam just shook his head. "It's a bad idea to get drunk when we're on a case, Dean. Especially demons. They could be watching us for all we know."

"We're fine, Sammy," Dean told him. "Don't get your panties in a wad. Now how about some breakfast?"

"God yes," Amelia agreed. "I don't think Jo will be going anywhere for a while, though."

"Ellen?" Dean called out.

They heard some stumbling and more groans from the next room.

"Go get some breakfast, you guys," Ellen called back. "Bring us back something."

"Sounds good," Dean grabbed his keys. "Drink some water, Jo," he shouted as they walked out.

Breakfast went quicker that morning. Dean ate almost as much as the day before, but he ate faster. Amelia had quite the appetite as well. They returned to the motel bearing coffee and muffins. Jo sat on the bed, nursing a glass of water. She had a clean change of clothes on, and wet hair from a shower. Red streaks ran through her eyes, but she looked awake and at least partially alert.

Dean tossed her a muffin, and she nibbled on it.

"Up for hunting today Jo?" Sam asked.

"I think so," she told him. "I'm feeling a lot better."

"Thought you had more sense, Dean Winchester," Ellen growled at him.

"I am sorry Ellen, Jo," he shrugged. "Thought Jo could handle it. Must have just been a bad night."

Jo didn't reply, she just ate her muffin and drank her coffee.

"Well, if you're good here, Sammy and I will check out the church. If we don't find anything we'll meet you at the mansion when we're done."

Amelia nodded, and the brothers loaded up their things and left. Ellen went into the bathroom, and Amelia looked at Jo.

"You sure you're good?" she had to ask.

Jo shrugged. "I'll be fine. Really. You guys don't have to make such a big deal out of it."

Amelia shrugged, and went to her duffel, loading up on demon hunting supplies. She already had an iron knife, salt, and holy water of course, but she grabbed more of each just to be safe. With her anti-possession tattoo and charm necklace, she should be just fine. Her own head still swam a little, despite her badgering of Jo. Amelia took another generous drink of water. When Ellen emerged, they all stowed more holy water on their persons, and loaded up the car.

The mansion was huge, and ancient. Displays covered the walls. Jo sighed deeply, and turned on the EMF reader hidden in her pocket.

"Split up?" Jo suggested.

"No way I'm letting you out of my sight right now, hon," Ellen informed her. "Amelia can split off if she wants."

Amelia took it to mean that Ellen didn't really care if she lived or died. Which was probably true compared to how much Ellen loved Jo. But of course Jo understood it as a lack of trust.

As they descended into chilly silence, Amelia walked off by herself, wandering down the long wood hallways looking at paintings and relics of the past. She soon lost all interest, but she kept inspecting them, looking for something that would suggest that demons would be interested in an object. She found nothing, and hours passed. Near noon, Amelia stared at a collection of old clothes inside a glass case. She could hardly make her eyes focus. Something caught her eye, a dark reflection in the glass. Moving way too fast. She spun, whipping out her holy water, but it was already too late. The middle aged man grabbed her hair, knocking the vial out of Amelia's hand with supernatural strength. Amelia twisted, yanked out her knife and buried it in the thing's chest.

It's eyes flicked dark black for a second, and it hissed in pain. But the demon reached down and pulled the knife out, hand smoking when it touched the pure iron, and dropped it to the ground with a clatter.

"You shouldn't have done that," the demon hissed at her, "now I'm mad." It smiled, baring every sharp white tooth. It twisted her hair up, pulling some out by the roots.

Amelia fought back, punching, kicking, tossing a pack of salt at it. Nothing worked, and all she received were bruised knuckles and a bloody scalp. The demon pushed her against the glass display, hand at her throat. Amelia's arms were pinned against the glass by a supernatural force.

"Exorcizamus te," Amelia gasped, "omnis immundus-"

The demon flinched, then slapped her across her mouth, clamping a hand over her mouth and nose, suffocating her. "None of that. You're wanted, but you don't need a tongue for what we have planned."

Well that sounded lovely. The demon removed his hand, and Amelia gasped for breath, but stayed silent.

"Good little human," the demon traced a tender line down her face.

Amelia shuddered, and glared at the demon.

"What's this?" the demon seemed to be enjoying itself. It pulled out her charm necklace. "Can't have that." The demon tugged at the necklace and yanked it off her neck. "Anything else on you, little hunter?" The demon systematically went through her pockets, removing knives, holy water, salt, and rosaries. "My, my. You pack quite a bit on you." The demon ran a knife across Amelia's throat, with a thoughtful look on his face. "It's really a shame I can't carve you up. It takes skill, but hunters scream so loud once you get them going."

The demon frowned, but sighed and straightened his shoulders. "We do what we have to, though." Grabbing Amelia by her hair again, the demon dragged her down the hall, Ameila's head firmly wedged under the thing's arm in a standing half nelson. Down a set of stairs, her knees whacking every step on the way, to a private section of the mansion. Great, now Ellen and Jo probably wouldn't find her if the demons hadn't already sprang them.

One woman stood alone in the dark room, arms crossed, feet tapping. Demon. "You got one of the hunters?" she asked, coming towards them.

"Yes, the new hunter. Singer's protege."

The woman frowned. "I would have preferred the other girl. But I do not need to get close. I'm sure she has a possession tattoo. Find it."

The new demon drew a knife, and in her hand it glowed red hot. Amelia's captor fumbled at her belt.

"It's on my back," Amelia snapped, and touched her bleeding nose tenderly.

The demon ripped off her jacket, and yanked her t-shirt up to reveal the small black tattoo inked on her back over her heart. Amelia shivered at the sudden cold and the rough hands on her bare skin.

"Hold her," said the demon with the knife.

As the demon grabbed her, Amelia bit down on her shirt, conveniently close to her mouth, and the demon laid a line of pure fire across her back. She yelped into the shirt, lurching away from the pain into the demon who held her. The demon tottered, and Amelia pressed her opportunity, setting her feet and launching herself into the demon. It fell backward and Amelia bolted, pulling down her shirt to free her arms. Three steps from the stairway, a force crashed into her, and she slammed face first into the wall, the force still hammering against her. She could barely breathe as it pressed her against the wall.

"You fool!" growled the demon who had burned off Amelia's tattoo. "You useless, stupid fool."

A hand grabbed Amelia's shoulder and effortlessly spun her around so the demon could look into her face.

"Watch over the meat suit," the demon said. "It's dead, but I'm rather fond of it."

Then the demon lurched back, and cast it's head back, opening it's mouth in a scream. A black, roiling cloud erupted from the thing's mouth, flying into the air towards Amelia. She took a single, terrified breath, then the smoke hit her. She couldn't stop it, she couldn't hold her mouth shut. The cloud forced its way into her mouth, between her clenched teeth, until her jaw hit its breaking point. It was choking her, flooding into her, into every single part of her body. She convulsed, choking, as the demon chased her out of her own body with fire. Finally, the last thread of smoke disappeared into her mouth. Into her body. She collapsed to her knees. There were voices in her mind, buzzing voices. She could still think, but she was now merely an observer in her own body.

So Amelia observed the white smoke curl up from every inch of exposed skin. She observed the intense, every-cell-on-fire excruciating pain that the demon suffered. Amelia felt the demon extract itself, and watched her body regurgitate the cloud of black smoke. The demon flew back to the limp, dead body on the floor, and rushed back through its mouth so it could inhabit the body it so recently abandoned.

"Holy water," Amelia lay on the ground admiring the texture and coolness of the wood floor.

The demon untangled the limbs of it's meat suit, and stood, unsteadily.

"I've been drinking it since yesterday, bitch. Probably have a gallon in my system."

"Clever," she allowed. "You would make a good demon. I think I want your soul."

Amelia didn't reply. She didn't quite have the energy.

"There has to be something you want. Your brother, yes? I can bring him back for you. Hell, I'd even give you a good deal. Twenty years sound decent? I'm very patient."

That hit her like a punch in the gut. She had trouble breathing for a second. She had studied crossroads deals, only after Bobby had drilled the danger into her for days on end, but the deal right there in front of her... Amelia bit down on her tongue. Hard.

"No? Stubborn one. Fine. I wasn't in you for long, but I did find out something very, very interesting."

With a toe, she rolled Amelia over on to her back. "See, there was a lot of turmoil in hell over the last century, came to a head over the last few years. Not sure if you heard about it, the Winchesters play in pretty close. No time for the cliff notes version, but the point I'm trying to get across is different factions, different goals, demons running around willy nilly, a lot of things slipped through the cracks. And you," she crouched down and cupped Amelia's bruised face with a cold, gentle hand, "are one of the ones that slipped away."

The demon took out it's knife again, and Amelia prepared herself to die. The demon took her hand from Amelia's face, raised the knife, and slit open her own palm to the bone. Amelia stared at her blankly.

The demon smiled, as it's eyes flashed black, and then it's bleeding hand was pressed over Amelia's mouth, and tangy, metallic blood flowed into her mouth. After a stunned second of paralysis, Amelia threw herself away, trying to escape, but the demon pressed down harder, blocking her nose so she had to take gasps through her mouth, and the blood trickled in, coating her teeth and her tongue in a disgusting salty slime. She raked the floor with her hands, tossed her legs around, trying to get any traction to escape the horror, but the demon did not let her escape. It forced her to swallow the vile liquid that it bled into her mouth, for a solid minute. When the demon finally removed her bloody hand, Amelia lay on the floor, motionless except for her shivering, eyes wide but staring at nothing. A sticky ring of blood stained the skin around her mouth in a sick parody of a popsicle.

The demon smiled, and patted Amelia's shoulder. "You're well on your way to becoming a demon now. Though, of course, you always were. You didn't know, but a demon visited you when you were a baby. You've always had demon blood in you, I could feel it when I possessed you. You'll have to be careful. The Winchesters will think you're a monster if they find out. They're pretty trigger happy, I'd hate to lose my investment now that I've found you. "

The demon stood, and rubbed the blood off it's hand. Amelia curled up on the floor in a tight ball. Her head had started to buzz. Demon's were souls tortured in hell. But could that be the only way to become a demon? She could research, ask around...

"You could go to Bobby, of course. Decent fellow. Did you know his wife was possessed by a demon? Bobby killed her. It's how he got started in the business. Amateur demon, of course. Every demon knows not to leave survivors."

Amelia wanted to vomit up the thick, syrupy blood, and get it out of her system in any way possible. It felt far too much like the brief possession had, but her body wouldn't reject the blood. She shook uncontrollably, and the thrumming in her mind intensified.

"You're not puking your guys out," the demon comforted her, "not burning up from the inside. See? This was a part of your life from when you were pooping in diapers. This is who you are."

The words started to swim through the air, rising and falling and pulsing. She could hear every whisper, could see the minutest grain of the floor. She felt the blood drying, oh, so slowly around her mouth.

"Knock her out," the demon said. "Then let's smoke out of here. We got what we came for."

Mercifully for Amelia, a swift blow to the head quieted the screaming in her mind for a time.

* * *

**Oh dear! Too bad Amelia doesn't know about Sam's issue with demon blood. That would certainly make things a lot easier for her, hmm? Darn lying demons had to come in when things were going along so well. **

**Thanks again for reading/reviewing, and let me know what you think of the new developments! :)**


	16. Chapter 16

Muffled noises cut through the clutter in her mind, her body seemed so numb. Something touched her, shook her.

"Amelia!" a voice shouted, "Amy!"

She opened her eyes a slit to a worried Sam bent over her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, the words echoing around her.

Amelia's eyes drifted shut again as the pain threatened to overwhelm her. But then her eyes flew open, and she struggled to sit up.

"Jo! Where's Jo?" she grabbed at his shirt, eyes wild. "And Ellen!"

"They're fine," he took her hand and patted her head in a gesture that felt far too much like the demon's caresses. She shuddered. "Ellen and Jo got a salt line set up and exorcised two of them. What happened?"

"Did you test her?" Dean's voice echoed over to her, and suddenly she heard his voice as an echo from the past. _"Probably best if you don't remember anything."_

Sam tossed some water on her arm, and seemed satisfied when it didn't sizzle.

"What happened?" Dean asked, his head coming into her view. "Are they still here?"

Amelia swallowed, the taste of blood still fresh in her mouth, and Dean's unspoken words echoing in her ears. "Tossed me down the stairs, don't know what happened after that." She coughed, spitting up blood. "Passed out."

Sam cradled her head, giving her some water. Amelia swished it around, and spit the red-tinged water out.

"Got punched in the face," she grunted as she sat up, Sam's hand on her back supporting her. She hoped there wasn't too much blood smeared around her face. Until her head cleared up and she could decide how to act, she would play it close. Amelia wiped at her mouth with her sleeve, wincing as the fabric grated over her bruises.

Sam helped her stand. Her head swam, pulsing with sheer pain. Amelia tottered, the support of Sam's hand the only thing that kept her from falling to the ground.

"We need to get you out of here," Sam told her. "The demons are probably still around."

Amelia was fairly certain they had gone, but she wasn't going to argue. Dean pulled her other arm over his shoulder, and between them they carried her up the stairs, her toes dragging on the ground. Her shoulder twinged in pain. But the throbbing in her head drowned out any other pain. Electric guitars howled without stopping, accentuated with every jar and jostle. Amelia bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

She heard Jo's shout from what felt like miles away, and Amelia forced her eyelids open.

"My God, Lia!" Jo brushed Amelia's hair out of her face to look into her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Amelia grunted out a pained laugh. "Not really. Got jumped by demons."

"I'm so sorry," Jo's face twisted up in pain at seeing her friend in such bad shape.

"Nothing too serious," Amelia hastened to reassure her. "Just a few bruises." She let her head fall back down when Jo took away her hand. It hurt to much to hold up her head, especially with her eyes open.

"Probably a concussion," Sam told Jo. "She was knocked out when we found her."

"Just get her to the car," Jo told him. "Mom and I will look after her. You guys see if you can find the demons."

"Sounds good. Be careful."

They loaded Amelia into the backseat of Ellen's car, Jo hopping in beside her for Amelia to lean against.

"Hospital?" Ellen asked as she climbed in the front seat.

"No," Amelia mumbled. "Motel."

"If you have a concussion, you should go to the hospital," Jo argued.

"No cun-gushun. Motel," Amelia growled, slumped against Jo.

"Well, you're stubborn enough to be a hunter, I'll give you that," Ellen sighed.

Between Ellen and Jo, they managed to get Amelia into the motel room and laid down on one of the beds. Ellen wet a washcloth, and rinsed off her bloody face while Jo patched up her raw knuckles and split lip. Amelia didn't even respond. She couldn't even hear them, for the buzzing in her ears. When they seemed to be finished, Amelia rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, trying to muffle out the world.

_The demon loomed over her, knife in hand. Amelia lay on the cold ground, pinned down. Her shoulder ached where they had burned her tattoo off. Black smoke rushed out of the demon's mouth as it screamed. The smoke pressed against her nose and mouth, cutting off her air. A finger of smoke forced its way into her mouth, acrid and choking. She gagged, and thrashed, trying to escape._

Amelia flung herself over, and something grabbed at her feet. She lunged away, clawing at the air, and suddenly fire spouted from her hands. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she collapsed back onto the bed, paralyzed, staring at her hands, blankets twisted around her legs.

Fire?

Her head had cleared a little, enough so she could actually think. Which meant that either she had hallucinated fire coming out of her hands, or the demon blood had done something to her.

"Amelia?" Jo's voice came through the doorway from the other room. "You all right?" Jo's head poked through the door.

Amelia swallowed, and forced herself to sit up and give Jo a small smile. "Uh, yea," she spotted a glass of water on the nightstand and took a sip. "Nightmare. I'm fine." She just had to get some time to think.

Jo studied her for a few seconds, then nodded, and walked back into the other room. Amelia rubbed her sore head. Superpowers or something? The demon did say she was a supernatural monster now, and demon blood would no doubt have strange properties. But fire coming from her hands? She shook her head, and grabbed clothes to take a shower. She could still feel the demon pressing the hand down on her mouth, the blood smearing around her face.

Amelia peeled off her clothes, and winced as her shirt pulled away from the burn on her back. Turning her back to the mirror, she craned her neck to look at the damage. An angry red weal lay diagonal across her tattoo, breaking the sigil and rendering it useless. Once the burn healed she would have to get the tattoo touched up again so it would work again. Not like it had stopped the demons the first time. Amelia hopped into the shower, gasping in pain as the water ran over the raw burn and her bruised scalp and hands. In spite of everything, though, the demons had left her alive. She would do some research, find out whatever she could about demon blood, and becoming a demon. As far as she knew, souls could only be twisted into demons in hell. So as long as she was alive she had nothing to worry about. The demons could have some huge plan for her. But she wouldn't cooperate with them. She stayed in the shower for a long time.

After her shower, she toweled off, and slapped a gauze pad over the burn before dressing. Hopefully they had found her charm necklace, she felt naked without it.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Three days later, Amelia pulled the Firebird into the garage at Bobby's, and wandered into the house. Sam and Dean had remained to follow up on the demon case, and Ellen and Jo had split off in Kansas to check out a potential poltergeist.

"Hey Amelia," Bobby got up from his desk as she walked in.

"Hey Bobby," she nodded towards him as she took her things down stairs to the panic room.

When she came back up, he stood, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

"You alright?"

She shrugged, and took a beer from the fridge. "A little banged up. How were things here?"

"Same as ever. Tamara had a problem with a minor deity out of India." He studied her.

A fading black eye haloed her left eye, and her knuckles were still wrapped up. She savored her beer, looking out the kitchen window.

"Anything I can help with?"

He shook his head. "Nothin' right now, do what you want."

She nodded absently, and wandered into the living room. Bobby returned to his desk, keeping an eye on her. She chose a huge Latin book on demons, and crashed on the couch, turning the pages with one hand, cradling the beer in her other. The chill felt good on her bruised fingers. Two beers later, Bobby started browning hamburger for supper, an ancient looking hunters journal in his hand as he cooked. He took a plate of spaghetti to Amelia, still on the couch engrossed in the demon book.

"Here," he gave it to her.

Amelia put the book to the side and took the plate. "Thanks Bobby." One of the core rules was no spilling food on the ancient books.

"Pretty interested in _Annalis Daemoniorum, _huh?"

She shrugged. "I realized there were a lot of things I didn't know about demons, I guess."

He took his own plate to his desk, and sat. "Like what?"

Amelia played with her spaghetti. "What do they want, you know? Creatures are easy to understand, usually they just want a meal, gods want adoration and sacrifice. Demons want souls, sure, but do the rank and file demons really give a shit about how many souls are in hell?"

"Demons don't make any sense," Bobby grunted. "They're just out to make chaos and sufferin'."

"I guess," Amelia munched on a mouthful. "I mean... Yea."

"What'd they tell ya?" Bobby asked. "They're all fulla lies, y'know."

"But even a demon could tell the truth, right?" Amelia wondered out loud. Bobby was her best resource for finding out about the demons. Maybe she could play it right, without revealing too much.

"What did they say?"

Amelia stopped eating. "They said they'd bring my brother back, even give me twenty years."

"Demons'll never offer anything outta the kindness of their hearts," Bobby cautioned her. "If they make'n offer like that, they have a reason and I promise it won't do ya no good."

"Ya see my brother walking around?" Amelia stabbed her pasta and ate in moody silence for a few minutes.

"That it?" Bobby pressed her after she had taken her anger out on her food.

"What do ya mean?"

"You're not buried in that book because some demon made you a generous deal you didn't take."

Amelia stared down at her spaghetti. "What happened with the Winchesters? Why were they involved with the demons? What happened a year ago?"

"The demons told you about that?" Bobby stared at her.

She shrugged again. "Mentioned it, really."

He sighed. "Well, some things aren't mine to tell, but I'll give you the gist of it. A few years ago, the demons had a plot to spring Lucifer from his cage in hell, start the apocalypse on earth. The idjits got themselves tangled up in it. Demons were putting pressure on Sam, angels were after Dean. It was pretty hairy for a while but they pulled together and stopped the whole thing."

Amelia considered this. "Why the Winchesters?"

"You'll have to ask them if you want to know, that's what ain't mine to say."

They ate supper in silence for a while.

"The demons just gave up after that?" Amelia asked.

"More like a regime change. The demons that wanted Lucifer free are out of power. How did the topic come up?"

Amelia shook her head. "That part's fuzzy." The lie came easy. "I remember the demon talking about the different factions. She said something about things slipping through the cracks, and the Winchesters came up."

"Did you tell that to the Winchesters?"

She nodded. "Yep. They needed to know."

"Sorry you hadta go through that. Demons are nasty sonsabitches."

"I'm alive. I think it went pretty well all things considered."

Amelia washed the dishes, and returned to ponderous book with a new beer.

After ten or so pages, Amelia started talking, very quietly. Bobby went still, and listened.

"They burned off my tattoo, I'll have to get it redone once it heals," she said, staring down at the page.

"Did they possess you?" he asked very quietly, hand clenched tight on the arm of his chair.

She nodded, once. "Felt like... Felt like," she couldn't find the words, and took a long drink.

"You weren't possessed when they found ya," Bobby asked the question without using so many words.

"Holy water," Amelia told him. "I'd been drinking it for two days. The demon smoked out pretty quick."

"Clever," Bobby grunted. "Don't blame ya for wantin' to read 'bout the bastards."

That night Amelia went for a very long run. Five miles from the junkyard out in the hills, Amelia jogged to a stop. Time for a little experimenting. Last night she had awoken again to fire flickering from her hand. Nothing in the book had mentioned the effects of demon blood. She would have to try and find out herself.

After an hour, she had produced exactly three sparks, and had a marvelous headache that rivaled the one she had received from the knock on her head. On her jog back to the house, her nose started to bleed. No way it wasn't connected. After using up half a roll of paper towels to try to stop her nose from bleeding, she crawled into her lumpy bed gratefully, the pillow cradling her aching head like it was from the bed of a god.

_The demon had her bound to a table, slicing and cutting at her. Amelia could feel her warm blood trickle down her body, and the cold knife slitting off her flesh and skin. She bit back a sob, but tears rolled freely down her face. _

_ "You'll break," the demon comforted her, caressing her face. "They all break, in the end." _

_ Raising the knife high, Amelia could see the it glint under the red sheen of blood, the demon plunged it down, into her heart. As the cool metal slid into her body, she jerked, arching her back as her body tried to start her heart again. Her vision quickly faded as her chest was covered in a crimson flood, and she sank down to the table again._

Amelia jumped from the bed, screaming, to stumble and crash into a heap on the floor. She clutched at her heart, laying as she fell, taking huge breaths and shaking. Every frantic beat of her heart was something to be treasured. After a minute when the sheer panic started to abate, she smelled smoke. Amelia raised her head from her sweaty palms, and glanced around. Smoke curled up from her blankets.

Wonderful. Jumping up, she tore the blanket off the bed, and stomped at the smoldering spot until it stopped. She left it on the floor, just in case it was still burning somewhere, and checked her watch. Too early to get up, really, but she had no desire to sleep anymore. She had to learn how to control this thing, otherwise she would burn to death in her sleep one of these nights. Or fry someone who tried to wake her up from a nightmare. Amelia went for a run in the cool morning air, and watched the sun rise as she tried to create flames from thin air. Soon she had a bloody nose and a horrible headache, but she had produced a few match-worthy flames that flickered for a second over her palm before disappearing.

As she jogged back to the house, holding her sleeve to her nose, she realized that it might not be such a great idea to get better at making fire. Whatever the demons' end plan was, it obviously had something to do with her, and the demon blood. Maybe getting better at controlling the flame meant she was going down the path they wanted her to follow. None of that mattered if she burned a house down in her sleep, though. Amelia took a shower, eyes closed to not irritate her pounding head, the blood from her nose staining the water that swirled down the drain. Maybe she could put fire out in addition to making it? It was worth a shot. Less aggressive, for certain, and it would help when she woke up to her blankets burning.

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**And the nightmares and abilities start! I thought fire fit Amelia's personality, and it definitely will be a hard ability for her to keep concealed. Should make for interesting developments in the future.**

**I loved writing Bobby in this chapter, he's such an old cranky dear. :) Let me know what you think! As always, thank you so much for reading, your comments and reviews definitely keep me going. :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Long chapter, yay! This one will be very Amelia focused, just warning you. The Winchesters will show up again soon, though, just because they always show up hehe. :)**

**JBethH: If this was a happy story, yep, Amy would totally have talked to Sam, but as things are... *laughs evilly***

**Makayla Monahan: Thank you SO much! It means so much to me to hear that you like my story. :) I know it's hard to get involved in OC stories, too, so it means even more that you think Amelia is awesome! :D**

**BrySt1: You'll like this chapter, more developing abilities, yay! Thanks for reading. :)**

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After breakfast, Amelia buried herself in the book of demons again, alternating with a book on spell ingredients when she couldn't read Latin anymore. Sandwiches for lunch, and customers for the junkyard in the afternoon. Leftovers for supper, Amelia discreetly threw some questionables away, and a crash course in Japanese by Bobby for evening entertainment. Amelia's head pounded by the end, and she could barely focus on the glyphs. No training her weird powers that night, no run even. Amelia crawled into her bed at an early hour, and buried herself in the blankets that still smelled like smoke. For the first time in a week, she slept without nightmares, and after waking up feeling refreshed, she went for a morning run.

That afternoon, Bobby answered the phone in the kitchen, with Amelia sprawled on the couch engrossed in another book.

"Amelia!" he bellowed.

She flew off the couch on instinct, her feet shifting towards the door in case she needed to bolt.

"Ingredients to block the affects of a hex bag, double time!"

Amelia froze, thinking wildly. "Graveyard dirt!" she thought out loud. "Amaryllis." She grabbed at her hair. "Uhhhh..." It needed one more ingredient to work right. "Poppy flower or opium or something? Cat's blood to bind it all together."

"That'll work," Bobby said. "Graveyard dirt, amaryllis, morphine, and cat's blood will do the trick for you, bind it up in a bag, keep it around your neck. No problem at all. Good luck."

"What?" That didn't sound like someone in immediate danger.

Bobby hung up. "Just wanted to see how you'd do under pressure. Very nice job. It would be hard to find those in a pinch, though. Any substitutes?"

She sat back down, feeling slightly betrayed. "Jasmine flower instead of opium. Theoretically some perfumes might work. Pretty small concentration though. Graveyard dirt is pretty standard. Baby blood or kid's blood would work, if they're into that."

Bobby snorted, and returned to his desk. "And if you wanted to work a spell?"

"Ahhh," Amelia screwed up her face. She knew hex bags pretty well, but her spell ingredients were a little fuzzy. Spells were notoriously fussy. "Cloves? Dust from a blessed statue?" she suggested, then shook her head. "I can't remember."

"Review time," he told her. "That's one of the most useful spells."

She searched around until she found a spell ingredient book, stained and marked up, and settled back down on the couch to try to decipher it. By that evening, she finally found it, and was able to recite it to Bobby's satisfaction.

That night, Amelia dreamed of fire.

_She hung from her hands in the warehouse again, and Paul dangled ten feet away, his head hanging low._

_ "Paul!" she shouted, and she saw him stir, but he did not reply._

_ Amelia threw herself against the cruel chains, trying to pull her hands out. But they held firm, and blood from her wrists dripped into her face. Amelia screamed in frustration. She had to reach her brother, she had to help him. Then she smelled smoke, and she watched tiny flames lick at the walls of the warehouse. And grow._

_ "Paul wake up!" she yelled. "We have to get out!"_

_ The smoke rolled across the floor as the flames raced up the walls and across the floor. She could not escape, and she watched the fire reach out towards her brother, touch his clothes, and curl up his body in a warm embrace. She screamed and screamed as he burned alive, and he screamed, and looked at her from his agony, face wreathed in flame. The fire reached her, and she burned with him, but she didn't die, she just kept burning and burning._

Amelia screamed, and the darkness of the panic room was lit from two dancing streams of fire that leaped through the air from her thrashing hands. Shaking and heart pounding, she jumped out of her bed, and pulled on her running clothes. It took her five tries to tie her shoes, and she had to grab both railings to make it up the stairs. When she walked through the dark kitchen, she grabbed a lighter, then she was outside and running flat out, like she was some sprinter. She ran until her heart fluttered in her chest and each breath felt like splinters. Amelia let herself fall to the ground, prickly grass pressing into her knees, and took a minute to catch her breath, staring down mutely at her hands.

Then, she slowly raised a hand, pointing it away from her, and replicating her performance from when she awoke, channeled her pain and confusion into a blast of flame off into the night air. The fire crackled in the air, and she felt the heat lick at her hand, as the fire flickered and cast shadows on the ground. Blood trickled from her nose, and she closed her hand, extinguishing the fire. Ignoring her nose for the moment, she took the lighter from her pocket, and flicked it open. Lighting it, she stared at the flame for a few seconds, and tried to will it out of existence. An hour later she extinguished the tiny flame once, gaining such an awful headache that she instantly stowed the lighter away, and walked back to the house rubbing her temple. Two aspirin, a beer, and a long shower later, she slowly worked her way through a bowl of cheerios.

"You alright?" Bobby had to ask, when he came downstairs at six thirty, and Amelia looked ready to fall asleep at her computer already.

"Kind of a bad night," she mumbled, sipping whiskey.

He didn't ask any more questions. "Firebird probably needs an oil change after that last drive, wanna ditch the research for today?"

"God yes," Amelia slammed her computer shut. Her eyes could barely focus on the screen.

While the oil was draining, Amelia cleaned out the trunk and resorted her gear, cleaning the knives and oiling the guns. She included a few more ingredients for spells after her recent study of witchcraft when she stowed everything away again. A few hamburger wrappers needed to be thrown out. Then after the oil had been replaced, she decided the car looked a little dirty, and washed it off, radio playing in the background. The sun felt good and the fresh air helped her headache. After that, she had to wax it of course. By the end, the car gleamed, and Amelia hopped up on the trunk with a contented sigh and a sandwich. She finished out the afternoon dealing with a few customers that showed up to the salvage yard, and after they ate supper Bobby chased her into town to practice her hustling. Amelia did pretty well, playing a few college students for her drinks and a few extra dollars.

That night, she watched her brother burn. After she checked for anything on fire, Amelia forced herself to lay back down, and covered up with her now slightly charred blankets. Hours passed before she fell back asleep, and the dreams were worse the second time. She went for her morning run at five, and got her morning headache forty minutes later. The lighter flame still posed a problem to her, and the effort gave her the mother of all head aches. At six, she took her first dose of aspirin for the day, washing it down with coffee.

Bobby stood in the kitchen frying eggs when she emerged after her shower. Another cup of coffee and some eggs with the morning paper.

"I think I might apply for the hospital position," Amelia said, paging through the paper. "Get some trauma experience. Part time."

Bobby nodded, sipping his coffee. "Would come in handy as a hunter."

Amelia started working the next week, mostly in the emergency room. The nightmares had become so bad, she could hardly sleep anymore, just a few cat naps throughout the day. She didn't get much hands on experience, that was for the doctors and Rns, but Amelia watched closely, and learned a lot about broken bones and overly concerned parents. The beginning of the fall semester came, and she stayed in South Dakota. She no longer felt any connection to the college world.

No matter how deeply she delved into demon lore, she never found anything mentioning demon blood. However, she did find a lot of speculation on how souls were lured to hell, and was not reassured. Amelia lost track of how many miles she ran each day. With less time devoted to sleeping, or trying to sleep, she spent more time running, or practicing putting out fire, or watching mindless Youtube videos. Anything to keep from the mind-numbing helpless despair of her nightmares. They had only gotten worse, and instead of acclimating herself to the nightly horrors, she dreaded it even worse every time she woke up in her bed, catatonic with grief, or screaming her lungs out. If Bobby noticed anything, he kept it to himself. After her burn healed sufficiently, she had the anti-possession tattoo redone so it was complete again. In September, she took third in a full marathon and received a modest sum of money.

When the weather grew colder, Amelia put up with it for a few weeks, but she finally faced the truth that she wouldn't be able to run outside for much longer. The thought of being trapped inside all winter almost made her panic.

"I put in my two weeks at the hospital yesterday," Amelia told Bobby over breakfast the next morning. "Sorry, but I have to get out of here before I get snowed in and go crazy."

He took a swallow of coffee. "Well, I can't keep ya here if you want to leave."

She returned to her bacon and pancakes.

"Could call up Ellen, or the Winchesters," Bobby muttered.

Amelia took a breath. "I'm not going to be a third wheel," she told him. "A hunt or two is fine, but I don't want to be the outsider mixed up in their family business."

"If you don't think you're family by now..." Bobby glared at her in an exasperated, but fond way.

"Look, I know they'd take me in. I just need to not be around them every day, alright?" Dammit, this wasn't going very well. One of Bobby's favorite adages was, "a lone hunter is a dead hunter."

Bobby shook his head. "I don't like it, but I can't keep ya here if ya want to go. Just be safe, alright? I've known way too many hunters got themselves killed."

"I will," she promised him. "I won't do anything particularly stupid. Hell, I might end up back here in a couple months anyways, or hook up with some other hunter."

"I'll start putting stuff together for you," he said, jotting down a few items on the back of a grocery receipt.

"Thanks Bobby," she told him. "For everything. I mean it. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't come here. Dead, probably."

"Just don't get yourself killed out there. A hair stands up on your head, you don't ignore it."

Amelia nodded, and put her dishes in the sink. She had a long work day to look forward to. She felt only slightly guilty in wishing for some bloody accident to give her something to focus on other than doing paperwork for the higher up nurses.

"See ya later Bobby," she waved as she pulled on her jacket and walked outside into the already crisp air. Her encounter with Bobby could have gone much worse. And soon enough she wouldn't have to worry about waking up from a nap and burning someone's face off by accident. She saw enough people burning in her dreams each night.

The night before she left Bobby's, they shared a six pack over a movie and he gave her some last pieces of advice. How to find cheap hotels without losing one of your kidneys. Car maintenance. The importance of picking up her damn phone and giving him a call if she got into trouble.

The next morning, he gave her a few of his precious books, a bag of sorted spell ingredients, and a carefully made charm.

"This should keep you safe from hex bags," he told her. "Just haveta activate it. There's a little glass bottle in there with cat's blood, so break the bottle and you're good fer a day or two."

"Thanks Bobby," she hung it around her neck for the time being, and loaded the final things in the Firebird's trunk. She certainly had more possessions than when she came, mostly in the weapon category. There was still a decent amount of room in the trunk, however.

Amelia slammed it shut, and turned to Bobby. "I guess this is it."

"Ya take care of yerself now. Try to sleep. Don't drink too much," he told her gruffly.

Maybe he had noticed her erratic behavior. "I'll try." She climbed into the driver's seat and started up the car with a small smile. She enjoyed the rumble of the engine.

"You're always welcome back," Bobby told her from the porch.

"Thanksgiving," she promised, slammed the door, and drove off.

Amelia hit the highway, and settled back in the seat, cranking the radio up on a classic rock station. The road lay in front of her. East, west, south, north, they all lay completely open to her. Well, not really north, who wanted to go to North Dakota anyways. But complete freedom, with so many guns in the trunk of her car she couldn't be scared if she tried. A thrill of excitement chased up her spine. She could hunt freaking monsters if she wanted to. Hustle pool every night. Run a marathon every other day. Find some drugs and get a decent night sleep for once. Amelia chuckled at that.

She ended up driving for twenty hours straight without a minute of sleep so she could watch the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. Loading up her backpack with water and granola bars, she took her morning run down in the canyon, watching the morning sunlight slowly inch down the sides of the ruddy walls of the canyon. The movement felt glorious after sitting in the Firebird for so long, and she flew down the path, drinking in the dry, warm air. Some hikers were very confused that day as she jogged by them whistling CCR.

After a while, she chose a comfortable rock to sit on and munched a granola bar, watching the river below and the bright blue sky above, and the colorful canyon all around. Totally worth it, she decided, and started the slower trek back up to the rim far above. When she reached her car again, she cranked the A/C up for the first time that day. South Dakota might already be in fall, but Arizona felt like summer to her. Amelia drove to the nearest town, bought a single room at the first half-decent hotel she drove by, and after a nice cool shower crashed on the bed.

_Paul stared at her._

_ "Aim!" he yelled, her childhood nickname. "Aim!"_

_ She struggled against the chains holding her fast. "I'm trying, Paul," she snapped._

_ Then the demon sauntered up behind Paul, and traced down his face with the already bloody knife._

_ "No!" Amelia growled, "you stay back you bitch!"_

_ The demon laughed, casting back her head, and her cruel laughter echoed off the walls, sounding like thousands of gleeful demons stood in the warehouse longing to carve them up. She started to plunge her knife into Paul, again and again. He screamed, and blood dripped from his bruised lips._

_ "Amy," he whimpered, staring up at her through his sweat-soaked, blood-soaked hair._

_ "Paul," she whispered, tears rolling down her face._

_ The flames were almost a mercy, when they started, consuming the blood and the demon and her brother with his haunting, pained eyes. They danced over her skin, prying open her mouth and reaching their fiery, piercing fingers into the depths of her being, setting her on fire from the core out._

Amelia awoke to the smoke alarm blaring. Her entire comforter was on fire. She kicked it off herself, coughing from the smoke, and stretched out her hand to the blazing blanket, focusing her bleary, adrenaline filled mind. Slowly, the flames died down, and blood started to trickle from her nose. After a weak, last-ditch effort by the fire to reclaim it's lost territory, the flames died out, leaving a slightly charred blanket and the still ringing fire alarm behind.

One peaceful night, well afternoon. Too much to ask apparently. At least she had taken a shower before she slept. Tossing the few things she had so recently unpacked back once again into her duffel, Amelia shouldered it, grabbed a handful of kleenexes to hold against her nose, and loaded back into the Firebird.

Two towns later, she stopped for "Best Biscuits and Gravy in Arizona," and judged them to be pretty decent. The biscuits were certainly top notch, and she got a half dozen for the road. She also got some gossip for the road: a supposedly haunted abandoned ranch house outside of town.

Amelia bought a hotel room, slightly classier than the last one, and headed to the town library to do some research. Three hours later, she hadn't found anything substantial. Every few Halloweens, the local paper would do a sensational article on the haunted ranch with interviews of different people who had supposedly seen ghosts there. But she couldn't find any violent history at the ranch no matter how far back she looked. Amelia decided to check it out for herself. The reports seemed to cover all months, so if a ghost did haunt the ranch it didn't seem to be seasonal. In addition, none of the people interviewed had been harmed by the ghost, so Amelia decided she would be safe.

That evening, armed with a flashlight and an EMF reader, Amelia walked around the old, fallen down building, scanning and looking for any sign of a ghost. After an hour and a half of searching, with no readings on the meter and a serious case of the sneezes from all the dust in the old building, she gave up. If a ghost did haunt the ranch, it didn't seem to be poking around that night. Still sneezing, Amelia drove back to her hotel room, and changed into her running clothes for a good long run to clear the dust from her nose. When she ran by a small park, Amelia did some stretches, and found a clear space, taking her lighter from her pocket.

It had become her nightly routine. She flicked on the lighter, and concentrated on the tiny flame. It took a few seconds, but she managed to snuff it out with her weird powers. At least she had some control over them now, even if she woke up every other night with her blankets on fire. She extinguished the flame ten times, the process got a little easier each time she did it. The headaches never went away, though, and by the sixth time blood started dripping from her nose.

Making fire came easier to her, but she didn't think it was a good idea to practice that too much. She had no desire to wake up to even larger flames springing up from her hands. Still, it was undeniably cool, and the burned beds were due to the nightmares, not any lack of control on her part...

Amelia let herself practice making flames once a week. Compared to putting out the tiny flame of the lighter, making fire appear out of nowhere was almost laughably easy. That made it hard not to go overboard. She would stand with her arm out, spinning in a slow circle, fire trailing from her extended arm like some gaudy scarf. After a few times practicing, she could even make fire appear without using her hands. That gave her a headache like none other, but the first time she sat motionless and a tiny flame bloomed up three feet away, she laughed for joy, blood from her nose trickling into her mouth. She told herself it would be invaluable as a hunter: a weapon that no one could take away from her. Maybe it was what the demons wanted from her, but after her hopeless nightmares each night, she relished the sense of control and power it gave her. Amelia went to sleep that night after a fifth of whiskey, head ringing like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

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**Before you say anything, I am from North Dakota and I love my state, but that doesn't mean I can't poke fun at it! :) Will post again soon, thanks for reading. :)**


	18. Chapter 18

Amelia got three hours of sleep that night before she jerked awake from a nightmare. No fire, for once. Amelia pulled her knees up to her chin, hugging a blanket around her, and staring into the darkness.

She didn't cry, she never cried. Expect for that one time with Sam, and that didn't really count. Amelia just sat quietly in the darkness, alone with her grief and pounding heart. Again, she had been forced to watch her brother being tortured. His screams still echoed in her ears. Holding out her hand, she spun her fingers around, and fire danced in the air, casting flickering shadows on the wall. She stared into the fire, distracting herself with concentrating on the changing shapes and dancing tongues of flame. After a while, her heart settled down, and she curled back into the blankets, the smell of fire and warmth hanging in the air.

Amelia slept for the rest of the night, more sleep than she had gotten over the last week. She woke up with a thick head. It felt like half a hangover, but probably just came from actually getting some sleep. Yawning, she stumbled to the bathroom, and splashed some water in her face to wake up.

Returning to the biscuits and gravy diner for breakfast, she devoured an unhealthy amount of the biscuits. She also found out about a half-marathon to be held the next day in a nearby town, and decided to attend. The haunted ranch seemed to be a bust anyways.

Amelia took second place in the marathon, winning $500 and getting a random running shirt with the name of the marathon stamped across it. All in all, a better deal than trying to hustle for pool, and much better for her life expectancy.

She found another potential case the day after, strange drownings. Amelia decided to take it up, putting on a professional set of clothes and taking her FBI badge to the coroner's office. Maybe it was a little overboard, but she was excited to break the badge in and throw a some authority around.

The coroner readily complied, pulling out the steel tray with one of the bodies on it. She stared down at the bloated body.

"How many bodies have there been?" she asked the coroner, an older man in a white lab coat.

"Three so far," he answered.

"All of them found away from water?" she poked at the body with a probe, studying it.

He nodded.

She heard the door open, and faint voices in the entrance room. The coroner left to deal with it, leaving Amelia alone with the dead body. She studied it carefully, and heard the coroner come back with two extra set of footprints.

"Looks like there's more agents on this case, Agent Adams," he said, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Her heart jumped into her throat. Really? Busted on her first case using a fake? She turned, and then couldn't keep back her smile of relief.

"Sam, Dean," she nodded to them. "Looks like the offices messed up again, huh?"

"Amelia," Dean looked surprised. "I thought you were still on, uh, desk duty."

She shrugged. "Wanted to get out in the field again," she told them.

"Doctor, why don't you tell them everything you just told me?"

He sighed, then started in on the description of the wounds for the second time, Sam and Dean studying and prodding the body.

"Dangerous to be out without a partner, isn't it?" Dean muttered to her in an undertone.

When the doctor turned away, she made a face at him.

"I think we're finished here doctor," Sam told him, "thanks for everything." He nodded to the man, and they left.

Outside the office, Dean turned on her. "The hell are you doing here Amelia?"

She shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Hunting. Did Bobby put you up to this? Tracker in my phone or something?"

Judging Sam to be the worse liar, she looked at him closely.

"We just came for the hunt," he told her, "nothing from Bobby."

She believed him. They walked to their cars, and Dean leaned up against the Impala in his interrogation mode. "So you're hunting on your own now?"

Amelia shrugged. "I was going to crazy up in South Dakota before too long. So what do you think about the case?"

Sam and Dean shared a look.

"Well, we dealt with a ghost one time that did something like this, but it could be some sort of creature. Research time," Sam sounded mildly excited.

Dean's face fell. "Come on, lunch or something?" he complained.

"Research, Dean. Do you have an motel room yet Amy?"

She shook her head.

"We can grab you a room at our motel when we get there, if you want. Easier to research. And stuff." He finished lamely.

"Easier to keep an eye on me," she corrected him with a sigh. "Whatever."

Except when they got to the motel, there were no empty rooms.

"I'll take your couch," she told them with another sigh. Putting up any fuss would alert them that something was up with her. She would find something to do to hide the fire in her hands. No way she was dropping her big secret on the Winchesters, especially when not even Bobby knew. She didn't want to believe the demon for a second, but she had seen enough of the Winchesters to doubt they would keep their hands off their guns if they found out she had been infected with demon blood.

Amelia dumped her backpack and duffel on the couch. It looked lumpier than even motel couches tended to be.

"You know you can take the bed," Sam told her, again.

She gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Let's not go through that again. The couch is mine."

Amelia pulled out her laptop, and sat down on the couch, ending the argument.

"So local drowning deaths, random weird occurrences, anything else I should be looking for?"

Sam sighed. "There doesn't seem to be any connection between where the victims died. So yea, I guess that's what we have to go on. Try to find some connection between the victims."

He took out his own laptop as Dean came in with a bag of weapons. "Well, isn't this just a cute little study party." He looked disgusted.

"I'm going to go talk to the vic's family's, see if I can dig up anything on them," he said, flipping through his badges. Anything to get away from the mind-numbing research.

"Sure, yea. Be careful," Sam clicked away.

Dean left. Sam stared at his computer. Amelia stared at hers. Click, click, furious typing. "Hey, get this." Bits of information jotted down. Violent deaths, potential hauntings. Anything strange they could find that ever went on in the town. The pieces of paper started to pile up around them.

When Dean got back three hours later, they had a plausible case worked out.

"Hey, I found the connection between the vics," Dean announced as he barged in, "they all worked for the-"

"-company that was draining the lake," Sam and Amelia said, in unison.

Dean looked like someone had popped his balloon. "Come on, guys, I had to sit through like three crying widows for that, the least you could show is some respect."

Sam gestured to the sheaf of papers scattered around the room. "Two hours of research, Dean. Show some respect," he teased.

"So, what do you have on what's ganking the vics, then?"

"That took a little longer," Sam admitted. "We're still not entirely sure."

"Sam told me about your case with the kid drowned in the lake. We didn't find anything suggesting that a ghost is what's happening here, but-"

"We still can't rule it out at this point." Sam took over. "More research," Dean groaned at that, "find the town's death records, see if anyone ever drowned in the lake."

"There's another possibility, though," Amelia it up again. "It could be a water spirit of some sort. Nymph, naiad. Something pissed that its home is being drained."

"So how do we kill a water spirit?" Dean glanced from one to the other.

Sam and Amelia shared a look, then Sam shrugged. "We really have no idea. Usually these things weren't violent so we can't find any lore on killing them. Hopefully it's a ghost, and they found the body to bury."

"Awesome," Dean grunted. "Now, since I apparently wasted my afternoon, can we get some food now?"

"Yes please," Amelia bounced up from the couch.

Dean's choice for supper was a restaurant with a bar, predictably.

The burgers were good, even if the waitresses dressed a little too skankily for Amelia's preference. Dean of course didn't mind one bit, and pretty soon Amelia focused on her burger so she wouldn't have to watch Dean's eyes follow the women around. Sam ate his salad quietly.

"So, rematch of that pool game?" Dean glanced at Amelia after ogling their waitress.

Amelia looked at Sam, who had his bitch face on at Dean. "Probably should get some more research done," she told Dean, who pouted. "Or at least a half decent night's sleep."

"Aw, come on."

"Hey, you already got out of a full day's research, Dean," Sam scolded him. "Stop whining."

Another couple of research hours later, Dean checked out, rolling onto his stomach on the bed. Within ten minutes he snored away pleasantly. Sam made it another hour before he too crashed on his bed.

"Get some sleep, Amy," he told her before he drifted off.

She sat in the darkness for a while, staring at her computer screen trying to find any information on how to kill water spirits. Of course she wanted to find information about the hunt, but really she just didn't want to go to sleep and wake up with fire in her hands and guns in her face.

When she couldn't force her eyes to stay open any longer, she curled up on her stomach, blanket pulled over her head. With her arms crossed under her chest, she hoped that any fire she started wouldn't get a chance to spread before she could put it out. She needed to sleep sometime, right?

She had been getting more sleep lately, wrecking the nice sleep deprived schedule she had established over the summer, so she needed it more than usual. And with no run or using her freaky powers, she wasn't as tired, which meant not sleeping deeply, which meant more dreams... In spite of her apprehension, Amelia quickly drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the early morning darkness, Amelia woke up choking down a scream in her throat. Smoke drifted up towards her, and she scrambled backwards, already reaching her hand out to stifle the flames underneath her. She saw a tiny flame flickering up from the lumpy, terrible couch, but it quickly died out. Breathing heavily, Amelia sat back down, resting her head in her hands. Her head hurt a little, not too bad compared to what some of her other headaches had been like.

The bed next to her, Sam's, squeaked, and she glanced up. Their eyes met.

"You all right?" he asked, in a quiet voice, propping himself up on an elbow.

She took a breath so her voice would be more even. "Nightmare," she muttered, putting her head back down on her palms.

"Need to talk about it?"

"Definitely not," she grabbed her running clothes from her backpack. "I'm going for a run," she told him, ducking into the bathroom to change. When she emerged, Sam stood stretching in the middle of the room, wearing sweats. Amelia raised an eye at him.

He shrugged. "I've been meaning to start working out more, seems like a good opportunity." Sam smiled at her in an innocent, disarming way.

Amelia chuckled softly, aware of Dean still snoring away. "Hey, if you want to run with me-" She could make the run miserable for him. Amelia pulled on her running shoes, and laced them up while Sam scribbled a note for Dean. Outside, Amelia did some quick stretches, then started running. A good five mile pace that would leave her sweating but not quite completely winded. As fit as Sam was, he simply didn't have the right build for long distance running. Without a word, they ran through the town, Amelia a pace ahead. Sam gave that much distance. He kept his own for the first few miles, due to his obscenely long legs, but Amelia heard his breathing get heavier and faster the longer they went. At around four miles, he started to lag behind, while Amelia kept to the same relentless pace. When she judged she had reached five miles, Amelia jogged to a stop, and turned around. Sam was a block behind, breathing heavily as he tried to catch up.

She waited for him, bouncing on her toes. Even if Sam was obviously spent, she had barely worked the edge off of the nervous tension that had been accumulating inside her since she teamed up with the Winchesters. Sam jogged up, and stopped a few feet away, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. Sweat dripped off his face as he gulped for air.

"You're fast," he gasped.

"I've kind of had a lot of practice," she smiled at his obvious pain. "That was only five miles, usually I go at least seven."

She tossed him her water bottle, since he obviously needed it more than her. With a grateful look, he popped it open, and drank about half of it.

"Thanks," he had almost caught his breath, and passed the water bottle back, "and thanks for going easy on me."

"No prob," she took a drink herself, and started walking. If she had taken the right turns, they were four blocks from the hotel, a nice cool down. She wanted to walk in silence, but Sam apparently had other ideas.

"Do you do marathons then?" he asked, easily keeping pace with her now that they were walking. "Now that you're not in college any more."

She nodded. "Yea, I've done a couple half-marathons."

"Better then hustling, huh?"

Amelia gave him a thin smile, and kept walking. Really, take a hint.

Apparently Sam did, because he didn't try to start any more conversation the rest of the way back to the motel.

"You can take a shower first," he told her, generously, as they came back in and found Dean still snoring away pleasantly.

She nodded, grabbed her shower things, and locked the bathroom door behind her before he got a chance to rescind the offer. The shower felt wonderful, and afterwords she put a couple braids in her hair just for the heck of it.

When she came out, Dean was jabbing the motel coffee maker and growling obscenities. Sam sidestepped her into the bathroom to take his own shower, giving her an apologetic look as he did so. Amelia chose not to make eye contact with Dean, and tiptoed past him so she could sit back down on the couch and start paging through the information she had found the night before. Maybe a fresh set of eyes could find something she had missed previously.

After a few more minutes of swearing, Dean finally managed to make the coffee machine regurgitate a thick, black sludge that made the room smell even worse. It emitted a sad groan, then beeped.

"Nooo," he slammed his hand down on the table. "Come on, I need to caffinate you stupid little-" he grabbed it from the table, in what would have been a strangle, if coffee makers had necks.

Amelia couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past her lips. Dean heard it, and glared at her, causing her to meekly bury her nose in the sheets of paper once more. Out of other options, he tried a sip of the vile sludge, and immediately spit it out.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore, spitting a few more times to clear his mouth out. Then he pounded on the bathroom door. "Hurry up in there, Samantha, I need caffeine some time this week!"

Soon enough, though never soon enough for Dean, they loaded up into the Impala and found a cute little mom and pop diner for breakfast. While Dean drank his coffee and munched away on his pancakes, Amelia showed Sam what she had found the night before, which was pitifully little.

"There just doesn't seem to be a surefire way to kill them," she sighed, after he had leafed through the papers.

"Other than getting rid of the lake some how," Sam brooded. "That's what triggered it in the first place."

"Yea, but how do we gank a lake?"

Dean looked up at that, grinning widely with a piece of bacon hanging out of his mouth. "Now that sounds like research I could get into."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean smirked at him, "explosives, back hoes, now that's fun research. Let's go find out what the company had planned to drain the lake."

"Boy, he cheered up quickly," Amelia muttered to Sam as they walked out. Dean had an unmistakable swagger in his step.

"Yea, well, explosives will do that I guess."

They shared a look and a smile as they climbed into the Impala.

* * *

**New hunt! Will the Winchesters find out about the demon blood? How will they hunt the naiad? Tune in next time for an exciting new chapter! :D**


	19. Chapter 19

The next day, Amelia stood on top of a ridge, watching the little lake beneath her that looked deceptively peaceful.

"Hurry up, guys," she keyed into her walkie talkie, "this thing has to know you're getting close."

She heard the engine of the back hoe rev up, as Dean put the finishing touches on a small channel that would let the lake drain into the nearby river. Most of the dynamite was already in place, Sam was down on the far end putting in the last few sticks. It would help the water drain faster, and give the naiad less time to fight back. After stealing the plans for draining the lake, along with twice as much dynamite as the engineers deemed necessary, Dean had plopped a hard hat on his head and said that he had always wanted to work construction. Or destruction. Or anything with big yellow machinery and things that went ka-boom.

Amelia watched the backhoe dig out the final bit of dirt that held the water back. Dean threw it in reverse as the water started draining out. When the backhoe was a safe distance away, Dean's voice crackled in over the walkie talkie. "Hit the charges, Sammy!"

Even from a few hundred yards away, Amelia still covered her ears when the blast of sound hit her. Dirt erupted into the air in a mostly straight line pointed towards the stream.

Then Amelia saw the naiad. "Dean," she shouted into the mike, "look out, it's at the mouth of the channel!"

She grabbed her salt gun, and sprinted down the hill towards Dean. The naiad was watery, dark, and even from a distance she could see that it was pissed. The thing flowed towards the backhoe, screaming. Dean jumped out the other side, and ran away, pulling out his own gun. They had no way of knowing if the guns would actually work, but Sam had conjectured something about fresh water spirits and salt that sounded better than any of their other options.

Amelia angled to the right, so she would catch up with Dean as he ran, still keeping an eye on the naiad which chased after him up the hill. He kept his distance, barely, while the naiad showed no signs of slowing down. She got closer, and checked to make sure her gun was loaded.

"Hey!" she shouted at the naiad, and the watery, black, snarling... thing, paused for a second. Amelia's blast of rock salt caught it right where its chest would be. It screamed, and fell to the ground.

"What the hell?" Dean shouted, pausing for half a second to catch his breath. "You were supposed to stay back!"

The naiad started to get up, moving towards Amelia. Dean shot it in the head, and it stumbled backwards a step.

"Salt's not going to hold it back for ever," Amelia shouted to him. "I can run faster, lure it away."

She loaded another round into her sawed off, and blasted it in the head again. "We don't need too much time, and you can't run much more."

Dean didn't argue with her. He shot the naiad once more, and ran off into the woods.

Amelia waited a few seconds, to make sure the naiad would follow her, then shot it again for good measure and loped off in a different direction. She heard it follow her, burbling, screaming. Not far behind at all. Amelia kept her breath even, and settled into a quick pace that let her stay just in front of it. Every few minutes, she spun, took aim, and shot it in the chest. While it writhed on the ground, Amelia caught a few breaths, shot it again, then reloaded and took off again. Each time, the lake had drained more, and the naiad seemed to be weaker.

Finally, a few miles from the lake, the naiad never got up again. It lay on the ground, coughing. Amelia stood a ways off, panting, but holding her gun up, and ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. But after flopping around on the ground for a few seconds, the naiad simply exploded into water, and soaked into the ground.

Amelia lowered her gun, staring at the spot where the naiad had so recently been. Then she pulled out her walkie talkie. "Hey guys, the naiad's dead. I'm not entirely sure where I am, meet you back at the Impala?"

"Wait, you went after the naiad?" Amelia could hear Sam's bitchface over the walkie talkie. "Dean!"

She turned down the volume as they descended into an argument, and after getting her cardinal directions from the sun, made her way in what she hoped was the general direction of the Impala. Even guessing at the direction, she still made it back to the car before either brother, and she hopped up on the back to wait for them.

Sam and Dean emerged a few minutes later, both gesticulating and yelling at each other.

"Are you alright?" Sam demanded, stalking towards her.

"Yea," she made it sound blatantly obvious. "It was actually kind of cool. Dissolved into water, just disappeared."

"It could have killed you," Sam slammed his hand down on the bumper.

"It could have killed Dean," she told him. "But he could outrun it. I figured I had a better chance then him in those boots."

That earned her a scowl from both Sam and Dean.

She smiled brightly. "Wanna ditch this place before the cops descend on us?"

They climbed in the car, but they weren't happy about it.

Amelia experienced her first Winchester style post-hunt celebration that night. Dean drank enough for everyone in the bar, and Sam joined him for a few beers. Dean challenged Amelia to a pool game, and by the time Sam called it a night, they had played two games. The first one Dean had been distracted by the bartender and lost, much to his surprise. Amelia and Sam had a good laugh about that.

The second game Dean won, but only narrowly. Now, in the third game both had gotten down to business.

The noise of the bar and the buzzing in her own head faded as Amelia zeroed in on the pool table. Every single shot counted. She could see the white ball, and the thousand ways she could hit it, the ten thousand ways it could rebound off the bumpers. Amelia took a breath, edged her cue over half a hair, and hit the ball. It ricocheted off of one bumper, and smacked into her striped ball with just enough force to send it into the pocket.

"Whoo!" She fist pumped, lining up her next shot, which knocked one of her stripes into prime position, and left the white ball in a bad position for Dean.

Dean shook his head. "Nice shot." He eyed the white ball, judging the best move to get out of the predicament. His next shot put two of his solids into a pocket.

Some of the other patrons drifted over to watch the showdown.

As the game went on and the next one started, their shots became gradually more daring and reckless. With no money down, it really didn't matter who won the game anymore, now they were just showing off. Dean sunk a solid after a triple rebound shot from behind his back. Amelia knocked three of her balls into two pockets. Dean cut a single ball out of a crowd of Amelia's and knocked it into the pocket. Amelia called the least likely pocket for the eight ball and drained it. If she had noticed the small crowd of observers, she might have been surprised, but the only thing she noticed was the game, and the thousand different ways she could make a shot.

When the bar closed, they walked back to the motel laughing, buzzed off of alcohol and the thrill of the night.

"Dude, that backspin shot you did," Amelia stuffed her hands in her pockets, "I have got to learn how to do that!"

"You had some pretty good shots, too," he told her, "you can really play the bumpers."

Their eyes met and they shared a smile, but after a second Amelia glanced away.

"We'll definitely have to play again some time," she told him.

"You know you're not a bad kid," Dean mused.

She didn't say anything to that. Really, what could you say? Thanks?

"You're a good hunter," he went on. "A little impulsive, but as long as you keep your head on straight you'll be fine."

They walked on in silence.

"Just take care of yourself, ok?" he finished.

"Oooh-kay," she whistled, "awkward. Are you drunk?"

Dean chuckled. "No! Not really. I mean, I don't think so?" He studied the streetlight.

Amelia laughed. "Time for bed," she snagged the motel keys out of his hand and opened the door. "Thanks for playing pool, Dean," she said as he flopped down on his bed. "It was a lot of fun."

Dean's snores joined those of his brother's.

"You're going to have a hangover tomorrow," she muttered to the quiet room. "But, then again, so am I.."

Since it was a singularly horrible idea to go for a run when she was mostly drunk, Amelia settled for sitting on a bus bench playing with her lighter for a while until the fog from the alcohol and the pain from putting out the flame became way too much for her. She stumbled back into the motel room, and fell into the couch, which still smelled like smoke.

All she had to do was remember to sleep on her stomach...

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Amelia woke up to Sam towering over her.

"Check this out!"

She jumped to her feet, head spinning, and lunged away, blanket tangling around her feet. She tumbled backwards over the couch, arms flailing. Amelia ended up laying tangled up on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

"Owww," she commented, closing her eyes.

"Whoa!" Sam came around the end of the couch. "Are you alright? I'm so sorry!"

She gingerly touched the back of her head. There didn't seem to be any trauma. Her head probably just hurt from the hangover. Hopefully...

"I think I'm ok?" she didn't sound too sure.

Sam crouched beside her and helped her sit up. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Yea, got that," she grunted, leaning up against the back of the couch. "Why did you wake me up?"

"Huh?" he stared at her for a second, then, "oh, yea!" He bounced up, and leaned over the couch to grab the sheet of paper he had dropped. "Reanimated bodies in Tennessee."

From a combination of hangover and smacked head, she couldn't read the words scribbled on the paper.

"Hmm," she hoped she sounded interested. "Zombies?"

"Looks like. I was sort of excited. Dean's rubbed off on me I guess."

"No, it's cool. Zombies!" she stretched her hands out, "rarrr! Brains!"

"Are you still drunk?" Sam looked at her suspiciously.

Amelia stared at the way his hair floated around whenever he moved his head. Such feathery hair...

"I hit my head?" she told him. "Owww," she stuck on a again for good measure.

"Yea, sure," he sighed. "Come on, you can take the bed now that I'm up, alright?"

She let him help her up, and pull her arm over his shoulder, which was uncomfortably high for her to reach. He guided her towards the bed, and almost had her in it before sudden chills ran down her spine. She couldn't sleep any more. She had made it a few hours on the couch without starting a fire, no way she could get any more sleep without triggering a nightmare. Amelia pulled away from Sam, and stood tottering by herself.

"Actually, I think I need a shower," she started talking, saying something, anything. "And some water. Probably brush my teeth."

"Nuh-uh," he told her. "You can't walk straight, I'll get you some water but you should probably lie down. Get some more sleep."

She saw Dean buried in his blankets, and wanted so bad to fall back asleep. But she couldn't.

"Nope," she bent down an inch, ignoring the throbbing in her head, and snagged her backpack. "Shower time!"

"If you slip and kill yourself in the shower," Sam sighed, "I am not helping you, just so you know."

"Fair enough," she shut the door in his face with a bright smile.

Her heart didn't slow down until she had been in the shower for ten minutes.

Dean was up when she came out, sitting on the edge of his bed massaging his head.

"Shower's open," she told him.

He grunted, and stood, wandering into the bathroom.

"So, zombies," Amelia grabbed the piece of paper from Sam, now that she could actually read again.

Three reanimated corpses in a small Tennessee town. All undeniably, unequivocally dead, and all mysteriously alive again.

Damn it. She didn't want to see any more of the Winchesters, she wanted to get another decent night's sleep without worrying that someone would find out that the demons had poisoned her. But damn it all, zombies. Rare, with many different causes. No way she wanted to miss out on zombies.

"Do you want to come along on this one?" Sam asked her. "Not something you see every day, even as a hunter."

"Hell yes," Amelia grinned. "I mean, if Dean's doesn't mind me tagging along."

"Eh, I don't think he'll mind too much. You did put yourself out on a limb for him with the naiad."

She smiled. "Let's go find the walking dead then, shall we?"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sam gave up trying to run with Amelia after the third night in Tennessee. She quite literally ran him into the ground. Amelia appreciated the solitude on her runs after that, and was finally able to practice her powers again. She had her own room, so she slept better without having to worry about causing even the tiniest spark. The zombies turned out to be caused by witches, and Dean turned out to be surprisingly decent about Amelia coming along for the hunt.

Still, when they had killed the witches responsible and properly celebrated, Amelia made her goodbyes. No way she would keep hunting with them, not until she knew for sure she wouldn't start her bed on fire in the middle of the night.

After a couple weeks, she found a haunting in Georgia, and then a nice crappy motel in Florida with marathons and hustling to pay for the room. She practiced with fire every night, getting more control over it. After a week, she discovered she could control heat, not just create fire. Cases seemed to be few and far between, so she holed up in the warmer climate for a few weeks. Amelia kept in contact with Bobby, in case a hunt did turn up.

When Thanksgiving rolled around, Amelia loaded her things into the Firebird, which actually had started to feel like home, and started the long drive up to South Dakota. She didn't mind, the open road gave her a thrill. Except for stopping for gas, Amelia drove straight through, and arrived dead tired and grinning widely.

"Hey Bobby!" she called out as she lugged her duffel in through the door. "Jo! Ellen."

They all sat around the table. Jo waved and gave her a wide smile. "Hey Lia, long time no see."

"How was the drive?" Bobby asked.

"Long," she yawned. "Took me over a day. Good, though."

"You drove for a day straight?" Ellen looked at her incredulously.

Amelia grinned, then had to yawn again. "Yea, I'm going to sleep. Night guys. Or morning. Or whatever it is..." She honestly had no clue, and didn't really care.

Once in the panic room again, she breathed in the familiar scent of dust, cement, and machinery. She didn't have to worry about burning anything in the panic room, the only thing that would catch fire was the bed. Amelia collapsed onto the bed with a grateful sigh, and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

**Time for another hunter holiday! Or is it? You never know with hunters. :) Thanks again for reading, I will post again soon. I promise there will be more of the Winchesters and Harvelles in the next few chapters. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Action time! Slightly shorter chapter here, but it's all action, so that should satisfy you. :)**

* * *

Amelia dreamed about her father, and woke up screaming into her pillow. Thankfully, no flames. Scrubbing her hands through her hair, she wandered upstairs into martial chaos.

Bobby dug through his piles of books, Jo sat at the table hurriedly sharpening a machete, and Ellen rummaged through a backpack

"I get the impression we're not going to be eating pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving," Amelia sighed. "What's up?"

Bobby glanced over at her. "Winchesters found a vampire nest. It must be pretty bad for them to ask for help."

"Awesome," Amelia deadpanned, yawning, "at least I didn't get a chance to unpack."

"We're driving," Ellen told her. "Be quick if you want to ride along."

Amelia grabbed her duffel and a couple machetes from her trunk in addition to her normal gear, and stowed them in the Harvelle's car.

"Let's go," Ellen barked, "we have to get there before nightfall."

Bobby followed in his Chevelle. No one had much to say on the drive. Ellen drove fast, so she wasn't in any mood to talk, and Jo and Amelia felt awkward talking with Ellen there.

In spite of her ever present worry of starting fires, Amelia fell asleep sprawled across the back seat. Jo might be less likely to shoot her than the Winchesters. Ellen maybe not so much. Halfway there, they received a rather frantic text from Sam with the location of the vampire's nest, and Ellen drove even faster.

"Do you think the vampires will catch them?" Jo couldn't help but wonder.

"It's a big nest. Even the Winchesters might not stand a chance."

"I'll keep in touch with them," Jo held her phone tight. "So we know if anything happens to them."

Amelia checked the sharpness of her machete, and pulled out a rather large knife to belt on when they arrived. Couldn't hurt to have too many weapons.

A half hour later, Sam's text failed to include one of the established code words. Nightfall was still an hour off.

"If they're bold enough to attack hunters in the daylight," Jo swallowed.

"Do you even think they're still alive?" Amelia asked, quietly.

"We have four," Ellen gripped the steering wheel tight. "We might not stand much chance against a big nest, but we have to try."

Bobby agreed, and they took all of ten minutes to come up with a plan, before charging in, Dean-style.

Ellen and Bobby drove their cars right through the front door of the old warehouse, Jo and Amelia riding shotgun. Literally. Three vampires lounged in the entrance, springing up when the two cars broke through the door. The buckshot from the shotguns, well soaked in dead man's blood, quickly took them down. Bobby threw the car into a slide, smoke curling up from the rubber. Amelia leaped out, machete flashing in the air, and quickly beheaded them before they could recover. Ellen and Jo emerged from their car, machetes belted on, sawed-offs in hand.

"Stay together," Bobby barked. "They know we're here."

They had hoped to surprise more than just three of the vamps in the initial assault. But of course hunters never had luck. Jo spotted a blood trail, and they followed it at a jog, shotguns loaded. Amelia hummed Knockin' on Heaven's Door to herself.

A vampire sprang from the shadows, fangs down, snarling. Ellen jerked, and the blast from her shotgun caught the thing in the chest. Then chaos erupted. Amelia spun, raising her gun as footsteps galloped up behind her. She got off one shot, into the arm, before the vampire crashed into her. They tumbled to the ground, and Amelia stabbed her knife wildly, trying to get to the thing's throat.

Suddenly, a blade flashed and the vampire's head flew off into the air, drenching Amelia in its blood. Keeping her lips tightly closed, she wiped off the blood from around her mouth. Wouldn't do to become a vamp herself. Bobby, already blooded from the vampires, glanced down at her and nodded once.

Amelia rolled to her feet, grabbing her shotgun on the way up. Bobby turned to help Ellen, who had a vampire in her face. And Jo... Where was Jo?

"Jo!" Amelia yelled, and caught a glimpse of pink and black flannel disappearing into the shadows. "Jo!"

She sprinted after her friend, stuffing a couple more shells into the shotgun as she ran. A vampire had Jo around the neck, dragging her along behind it. Jo didn't struggle against it, and at the very least was unconscious. The vampire snarled when it heard Amelia, and tossed Jo through an open door, turning to face Amelia.

The vampire's eyes went wide when the buckshot caught it in the chest, and he fell to his knees. Amelia drew her machete as she ran towards it, and shifted into a swinging stance, preparing to chop off the vampire's head. As she started to swing, another vampire blindsided her from behind, and they fell through the doorway, almost on top of Jo's motionless body.

The vampire wrenched the machete out of her hand, hissing when it touched the dead man's blood, and effortlessly picked Amelia up from the ground. Amelia struggled, to no avail, and the vampire pressed her arm to it's mouth. Its cold teeth sunk deep into her arm as it sucked her blood.

"Drain the blonde," the second vampire told the first, and she tossed Amelia against a wall. "Get your strength back to kill the others."

The injured vampire crawled through the door, closing and locking it behind him. Without defense, Amelia crouched against the wall, eying the vampires closely.

"Nothing personal," the vampire told her. "You do have delicious blood, though. Exercise, but still enjoy the good things in life, yes?"

She smacked her lips. "I'm hungry for another taste."

It lunged in, trapping Amelia's hands in a grip almost tight enough to break her wrists, and leaned towards Amelia's neck, fangs slick with blood.

Amelia pushed back, straining against the vampire's iron grasp on her wrist. As the fangs touched her neck, Amelia managed to put one finger on the vampire's forehead. Then, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate as the teeth slowly sunk into her neck, and the vampire on the floor savaged Jo's neck.

Flames within flames within flames, in the center of the thing's head. The focus itself was brutal, then blood burst from her nose, and thunder roared inside her mind. The vampire pulled back, confusion paralyzing it for a second.

The connection broke, and Amelia released the small knot of pure fire that she had crafted inside the vampire's head.

Amelia heard a dull pop, and the vampire's head simply exploded in every direction, coating her with blood, and brains, and she didn't even want to think about what was smeared across her face. She opened her eyes, hoping that vampire blood wouldn't run into her mouth and infect her. The vampire on the floor stood up, in pain from the dead man's blood, but snarling. He could still easily kill her.

"What did you do?" The vampire growled at her.

Amelia took a step from the wall on shaking legs, raising one hand in front of her. The other she used to wipe some of the blood and brain off her face, and press on her bleeding nose. The vampire stood its ground, over Jo's bleeding body. The only way Amelia could tell she was still alive was by the blood that pulsed from the girl's neck.

There wasn't time, she had to get pressure on that wound.

The vampire charged, and Amelia closed her hand, replicating the tiny firebomb in her closed fist. The vampire came teeth first, confident in its superior strength. Hardly able to focus her eyes, Amelia lunged forward, hand smashing the clump of flames against the vampire's throat. He reached forward to toss her away, and she blew half his neck off with the small charge. The vampire seized, stumbled away, and collapsed to the ground, shaking.

Amelia reeled, and fell to her knees. She had to kill the vampire, or it would heal. No way she could make another flame-within-flame to finish beheading it, though. There was already a good probability she was going to faint in the next few seconds.

Taking her hand from her gushing nose, Amelia started crawling very slowly to the vampire. Her hands shook, and her breath came in short, painful gasps. Hand in front of hand, one eye closed, the other only half open. Blackness rimmed her vision, but she tensed up her muscles, and pushed the faint away. Finally, she reached the vampire.

Amelia took out her knife. She could barely hold it for the spasms in her fingers. Gritting her teeth, she two-handed the knife as best she could, and started to hack at the vampire's neck. He stared at her, glassy eyed, blood running out of his mouth. His entire throat was missing, and she could see the bones of his neck, white hidden in the mess of red, bloody flesh. She threw up, and the blackness crawled closer. But she finished the job, and sawed through the remaining flesh.

When Amelia cut the last bit of skin, she let the knife fall to the floor. Her hands shook uncontrollably. After rolling the head away so it wouldn't regrow back onto the body, she raised her head and tried to look at Jo. A few feet from her, though, the world faded into blackness. She couldn't see any father.

"Jo," she rasped, "Jo."

Amelia swallowed, and crawled forward into the darkness, head down. Her entire body shook now. Thousands of bees swarmed in her head, thunder, and drums, and the taste of blood in her mouth. After an eternity, she touched fabric, and by sheer force of will opened her eye a crack.

Jo lay on the ground in front of her, blood staining her shirt. Her skin was deadly pale.

"Jo," Amelia croaked. "Come on, Jo, don't leave me."

She pressed her bloody, shaking hand to the alarming gash in Jo's neck. Amelia couldn't feel anything in her limbs anymore, so she wasn't even sure Jo had a pulse. Blood kept trickling through her cold fingers, though, so maybe that counted for something. She had to keep pressure on the wound or Jo would die, but not too much or blood supply would be cut off to Jo's brain. Jo's beautiful blonde hair was stained and clumped with her own blood.

A tear dripped from Amelia's face, leaving a thin trail against the dried blood covering her face.

"Come on," she growled, as much to herself as the silent Jo. The blackness had almost reached the center of Amelia's vision, she had barely a pin-prick of vision left.

She fumbled with her numb, dead fingers, and turned Jo's head to the side, the gash facing up. Then darkness overcame even her stubbornness, but even as she collapsed, Amelia moved her arms so her hands fell against Jo's neck, pillowing the rest of her now dead-weight body on her arms to keep pressure on the wound even when she blacked out.

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**Suspense! Sorry to leave you hanging, but I'll post again soon. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry for leaving you all hanging there, but this chapter is half warm fuzzies so I hope you will take it as my sincerest apology. :)**

**Guest: thank you so much! :D I'm so happy that you think Amelia fits in with everyone else.**

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Amelia felt the delicious fuzziness in her mind long before she had a conscious thought, and embraced it. She felt well-rested for the first time in forever,and there was no way she was cutting that short for anything. But no matter how much she tried to lose herself in the drugs pumping through her system, her mind eventually surfaced from the haze.

"Jo," she croaked, as the first memory that came back was Jo laying bloody on the dirty floor. "Jo!"

She was gaining ground now, she could feel over half of her body. "Jo!" she tried to yell, "Bobby? Ellen! Jo!"

Amelia finally managed to open her eyes. White lights seared into her mind, and sharp pain pierced through the painkillers and sedatives.

"Amy," a tired voice reached her.

She moved her head towards the voice, and made out a large blurry shape lurking a few feet away. "Sam," she croaked, recognizing the mane of hair. "Jo? Bobby?! De-"

"They're all fine," Sam cut her off, coming to stand by the side of her bed.

She noticed the white bandages circling his arm, and bruises splotched around on his visible skin.

"You alright?" he asked her. "You gave us quite a scare. Couldn't find a pulse between the two of you."

Amelia let her eyes drift shut again. "I'm ok. How's Jo?"

"She lost a lot of blood, but she's fine now. Hasn't woken up yet. Ellen and Dean are with her now. Bobby's cleaning up things."

The pillow cradled her throbbing head.

"How're you an'Dean?"

He smiled, and gave a little shrug. "Vampire's took some blood, but we're in decent shape. They were planning on bleeding us for a while. Thanks for coming in guns blazing and getting us out of there."

Amelia accepted his thanks with a weary smile and a thumbs up which entirely drained her of energy.

"Think I'm gonna take a nap," she slurred.

He brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. "Night, Amy. Someone will be here when you wake up."

"Mmm," she mumbled as the peaceful, warm nothingness washed over her, and she drifted off again.

Some time later, people in white coats flashed lights into her eyes, and mumbled things she couldn't understand. They made her drink some water, and she drank it so she could go back to sleep.

The next time, her mind woke up before her body. Amelia heard snoring, and recalled Bobby, face down into a book during a long night's research, sawing logs.

Smiling, at least in her mind, for her face wouldn't respond, she managed to crack an eye open. The lights were off in her room, but she could still make out a blurry blob where Bobby sat in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, head tilted back, jaw open, snoring away. Amelia let her mostly unresponsive eye drift shut again.

They were keeping a close eye on her. She had to come up with some good explanation as to how she was able to explode one vampire's head and another's neck. And she meant to, but it was so hard to stay awake with her eyes closed, and the drugs were so comforting, and her head still hurt a little bit... She drifted off, her snores joining Bobby's.

The nightmare came out of nowhere. One second, Amelia slumbered in peaceful darkness, the next, her father slapped her across her mouth, his face contorted in rage. Pain blossomed across her face, and blood ran in her mouth where her lips had been smashed against her teeth. He backhanded her face again, and she could already feel the bruise forming across her cheekbone. The smell of whiskey dripped from his bloody hands, and Amelia let her jaw slack open in a silent scream as he moved closer, battering her face and body.

Her loud and very vocal scream woke her from the nightmare. She jerked back, from the phantom of her father that she still saw in the air, the drugs painting the image for her all too clear. Tossing up her arms to protect her face, Amelia lunged to the side, and toppled over the bedrail to crash to the ground. She screamed again, still clutching at her head.

"Amelia!" a voice shouted. "Amelia, let me see your eyes!"

A strong hand forced her arm away from her head, and a bright light split her brain open. Reflexively, she dodged back, closing her eyes. The tile floor was hard and cold, but she didn't notice as she sobbed. Then she smelled blood, and opening her eyes she saw Dean, crouching on the floor in front of her. Even though she knew it was Dean, the image of the demon offering her blooded hand to Amelia was overlaid on the top. She couldn't concentrate on anything else.

"Take and drink," it smiled, eyes flashing black, its hand extended, so close to her mouth.

Jerking wildly back, she screamed again, clutching her hands over her ears. Her whole body shook, and she passed out of thought into a consuming numbness.

The next time she knew anything, a soft, quiet voice murmured periodically, and she felt warmth around her. A gentle hand rubbed small circles on her shoulder. Her body still shook, as she slowly came out of her mental paralysis and found Sam sitting on the floor, cradling her gently in his long arms. For a minute, Amelia didn't have the energy to move. She just let her head rest on Sam's warm chest, listening to his heart beat, and his incessant, comforting touch on her shoulder. Slowly, the quivering abated, leaving behind pure exhaustion and a gut-deep ache in every single muscle. It had been a long time since she a panic attack had hit her in the middle of the day.

Finally, Amelia lifted her head, swallowing, and tried to unclench the tight, bloodless fists that were her hands.

"Hey," Sam said softly, shifting so he could see her face. "Are you ok?"

She stared down at her uncooperative, stiff fingers, and shrugged. "Dream. And drugs... mess stuff up." Another quiver ran through her body.

Sam took one of her hands in his, and rubbed it, working life back into it.

"I'm sorry about... earlier. Dean thought you might have swallowed vampire blood, and was a little enthusiastic about checking."

"I don't think I swallowed any," she told Sam, experimentally opening and closing her hand. He moved to her other hand, opening the fingers slowly, gently.

"You didn't attack Dean when he offered you blood, which was an idiotic move on his part. But even he doesn't think you're a vampire now."

He gave her hand a tiny squeeze.

"Do you want to try to get some more sleep?"

Quickly, she shook her head. "No." Luckily she hadn't started a fire, whether from overuse of fire earlier, or numbness due to the drugs, but no way would she press any luck she had.

"Can I see Jo?"

"Yea, of course," he finished working blood back into her fingers, and helped her stand.

Her legs quivered under the weight of her body, and the world spun and wobbled around her. If not for Sam's arm, she probably would have fallen.

"You sure you're alright to walk?" he had to ask.

Amelia smiled, thin-lipped, and walked for the door, Sam hovering beside her, still holding her hand and steadying her shaky steps. They made their way like that down the hallway, slowly, and Amelia surprised herself when she realized she was holding a guy's hand and didn't actually mind it. For her, it was a new feeling.

That all went out the metaphorical window when they stepped into Jo's room.

She lay on the bed, very still, her neck thick with bandages, and her skin very pale except for the dark circles underneath her eyes.

"Jo," Amelia whispered, and lurched forward to stand beside the bed, staring down at her friend. "Oh, God, Jo."

Two IV's ran to her arms, but she was still a ghost of her usual fiery self. Slowly, Amelia reached out and touched her hand, laid out on top of the blankets so the IV could run unimpeded.

"God, she's like ice," she muttered, and took Jo's hand in both of hers, trying to warm it up.

"Amelia."

Turning her head, she saw a bleary-looking Ellen raising her head from where it had leaned on her hand, sleep still in her eyes.

Amelia looked back to Jo, and cradled her cold hand, swallowing. She heard Ellen stand and take the two steps to stand behind her.

"Amelia," Ellen said again, and placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her whole body to go tense. "You saved my girl, Amelia. You saved my Jo. I can't ever thank you for that. Anything you need, ever-" her voice choked up, and she wrapped her arms around Amelia, who clenched every muscle in her body, but managed to endure the hug without bolting for the door.

Ellen finally let go, with a tiny pat on her shoulder and a smile.

"How is she?" Amelia asked, gesturing at Jo.

"She lost a lot of blood," Ellen said, laying her hand on Jo's head, "much more and we would have lost her. You kept her alive, even when you were out cold." The sheer gratitude in Ellen's eyes made Amelia uncomfortable. She didn't really do emotions.

"She woke up once, and didn't seem to be in much pain. They're keeping her sedated until her neck can heal so a wrong move doesn't rip it open again." She touched the bandage lightly, making sure it was in place.

"I'm just glad she's going to be ok," Amelia mumbled, carefully placing Jo's hand back down on the blankets.

"How are _you_ doing, sweetie?" Ellen turned to her. "What happened, anyways? There was so much blood, and we were scared you were both dead."

Amelia's heart lurched painfully into her throat. "I-" she started, trying to remember the lie she had thought up through the pounding in her chest, but she was choking on her air and she couldn't think straight. All she could remember were the vampire's teeth sinking into her neck, and the way its head exploded all over her. "I-" she tried again, but what were the little pin pricks of light dancing around her? The pain in her head increased exponentially. Her legs started to buckle underneath her, and she grabbed the bed rail as the panic attack slammed into her full force.

"Amelia!" she felt Ellen's hand on her shoulder as she started to hyperventilate.

"She's having a panic attack," she heard Sam's voice echo to her from a great distance.

Amelia tried to even out her breathing, but her body started shaking again, and she couldn't get enough air. She was choking, and she couldn't seem to remember how to breathe. Then Sam's warm arms were around her again, keeping her from collapsing, and she could hear his heart beating steadily.

"Just breathe, Amy," he told her, "just breathe. You're all right, shhh... You're safe. Breathe."

She clung to consciousness by a hair breath, tensing up every muscle in her body to keep from fainting as she fought her way through the blind panic. Her hands clutched at his shirt, as she instinctively looked for something, anything to hold on to as waves of pure terror crashed against her, again and again. After a few horribly long minutes, she finally managed to even out her breathing, though her heart still tap danced in her chest. Her whole body felt so weak, as she drooped against Sam, that she knew she would collapse if he removed his support.

"You're going back to bed, kiddo," he told her. "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"I'm so sorry, Amelia," Ellen patted her hand. "I didn't mean to- I'm sorry."

Sam scooped her up off the ground, and without a fuss, she let him carry her back to her room. She hated feeling weak, and hated any show of emotion or vulnerability, let alone two public panic attacks in one day. But she was too tired to argue with him, and all she wanted was a warm blanket to hide under, in a dark room where she could be alone. Sleeping was a forgone conclusion, and as her head bobbed along, she seriously doubted if she could light a spark in her present condition.

"Hey Sammy," she heard Dean's cheerful voice. "She alright?"

"Yea, she was visiting Jo and got tired," he lied for her. "I'm taking her back."

"Sorry about earlier, Amelia, didn't mean to freak you out like that."

She grunted in reply, and Dean apparently took that as forgiveness, because she heard him walk away, whistling tunelessly.

"Thanks," she mumbled up at Sam as he continued walking.

"No problem," he told her, "Dean can be an ass sometimes."

Soon, she felt the soft pillow cradling her aching head, and a nice blanket being draped over her.

"Do you want someone to stay with you, or would you rather be alone?" Sam asked.

"Alone," she grunted, as sleep already started to take her.

The door shut softly behind him.

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**I have to say that I wouldn't mind having a panic attack too terribly much if Sam Winchester was there. :) And I hope this chapter helps you all get over your anger at me for leaving you in suspense last time! **


	22. Chapter 22

**As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. :) One fairly long chapter coming right up!**

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"Amelia, Amelia can you wake up for me?"

She opened her eyes. A kind looking male doctor smiled down at her.

"How are you feeling?"

She shrugged, awkwardly because she was still laying down in the bed. "Ok, I guess."

"Can I do a quick check up?" Amelia nodded her permission, and the doctor started looking her over. "I admit we were a little puzzled as to what was wrong with you. Can you fill me in?"

"Uh," he shined a light in her eye, checking for any signs of a concussion. "I've had a few concussions in the past. I think it was just blood loss and a little head trauma. Maybe some whiplash?"

"How does your head feel now?"

"Not too bad. A little headache, I guess."

"Can you get up and walk for me?"

She slid off the bed, and though her legs shook a little bit, she managed to walk in a straight line.

He finished his tests, and pronounced her healthy. "Just take it easy for a few days, but if you start having bad headaches, you should probably get some scans done."

Haha, bad headaches. But she just nodded and thanked him.

After the doctor left, Bobby came in, carrying her backpack.

"Get a clean bill a' health?" he asked.

"I guess so," she said, and he nodded to the backpack.

"Ya can change into yer own clothes," he told her. "We'll be in Jo's room when yer done."

"Thanks Bobby," she said as he walked out again, and she gratefully pulled off the hospital garb, changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and one of her brother's old sweatshirts. She couldn't bring herself to throw them away, even though some of them barely held together.

After changing, she shouldered the backpack, and walked down to Jo's room, where everyone sat in chairs, talking in rather subdued tones. Jo's eyes were open, and she saw Amelia hesitating in the doorframe.

"Hey Lia!" she called out with a weak smile.

"Hey Jo," Amelia smiled back. "How're-ya feeling?" She stood by the bed side again, pushed away the memory of the recent panic attack, and did her best to grin down at Jo. Her eyes were glassy from the drugs, but her smile seemed genuine.

"Pretty weak," Jo complained. "Docs wanna keep me here another couple days."

"That sucks," Amelia told her.

"How're you? What happened anyways? They've been dodgy about it." She heard someone shift behind her, and a couple people inhale sharply and hold their breath. Waiting for her to have another panic attack, no doubt.

"I'm fine," Amelia told her, sticking to Jo's first question. "Doc just released me, actually. Hope you won't think less of me if I run for the hills."

"No honor among thieves," Jo pouted, her eyes drifting shut. "Glad yer ok," her words started to slur together. "Thanksfer, thanksfer helpin' meaut. Witha vamps..."

"Get some rest, Jo," Amelia told her as the drugs overpowered Jo's weak grip on consciousness.

"Mmmrbl," Jo muttered as she slipped away.

Amelia chuckled. "She seems ok," she said, as much to herself as to the small crowd sitting in the chairs behind her.

"She'll be up in no time," Ellen looked much more relaxed than she had earlier. "Ya'll get out of here," she told them. "Go get some food, some rest. I'll stay with Jo."

The older woman didn't have to tell Amelia twice. She had already smelled way too much disinfectant for one day. Dean, who had apparently caught a nap at the hotel while coming off of the drugs after getting patched up at the hospital, stayed back so Ellen didn't have to sit alone.

The afternoon light pierced into Amelia's head when she stepped outside, but she gritted her teeth and bore it, following Bobby to his car. Sam took Ellen's car to fill it up with gas, leaving Bobby and Amelia alone in the Chevelle for the drive to the motel.

"Ellen told me what happened when she asked ya 'bout the vampires," Bobby said in his gruff way, pulling out of the parking lot.

Amelia stared out the windshield, grabbing onto her leg tight with her hand, relishing the pain of her fingernails digging into her leg. Anything to keep off another panic attack. From thinking about the vampires, and Jo bleeding out on the floor.

"Ya think ya can tell me what happened?"

"I was in Louisiana," she told him her prepared lie. "Found this hoodoo witch, decent sort of witch. She gave me some hex bags, said they'd explode. At the time I tried a couple out just to see if they'd work. You saw what they did, I guess. Those were the last two. I was going to try to save one for you, so you could find out what made them work, sorry."

"Yers and Jo's necks are worth more'n that," Bobby told her. "Why'dja react so bad when Ellen asked ya?"

Amelia rubbed her palm on the leg of her jeans, trying to get some of the sweat off. "I just- I remembered the way Dean came at me when he thought I might be a vampire. Drugs were still messing with my head. Flipped out I guess."

"Y'alright now?"

She nodded. "I think so."

"I'm sorry ya got dragged into this whole mess of a life," Bobby grunted as he pulled up in front of the motel. "Ye're a good kid, Amelia. You deserve a helluva better life than huntin'."

He parked the car.

"Those were the first attacks I've had in months," she snapped at him, not able to hold back her tongue. "Back in college I'd get one a week. Sure, they're hell. But that don't mean they're caused by hunting."

Bobby's brow furrowed, as she climbed out and closed the door with a little more force than necessary. But he shook his head, grabbed the key to the motel room, and showed her the way.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Two days later when Jo finally argued her way out of the hospital, they started the long trip back to Sioux Falls. Amelia accepted Dean's invitation to ride with them, and spent most of the drive sprawled in the back seat of the Impala, nose pointed towards the roof snoring away softly.

Whenever Dean noticed that she was awake, he grilled her on classic rock band trivia. Amelia managed to not entirely embarrass herself, though her knowledge wasn't quite up to Dean's high standards. Everyone was tired from long days at the hospital and sore from wounds, but no huge fights broke out. The Impala just cruised down the road, and in spite of Amelia's ever-present fear of starting a fire, the hum of the tires always lulled her back to sleep. She didn't have a single dream the whole ride up to South Dakota.

"Well," Bobby sighed as they clumped into the house, everyone tired from the ride and still healing from the vampires, "I think the turkey's defrosted by now."

Ellen, supporting a still-feeble Jo through the door, laughed uproariously. "That it might be, Singer," she chuckled, wiping a laughter tear from her eye. She was just glad of any excuse to laugh and let go of the worry and tension of the last few days.

Jo just rolled her dropping eyes, and let her mother guide her to the couch.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Bobby grunted, looking at all the ingredients for a thanksgiving dinner, and sighed again at the thought of having to cook.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Amelia smirked, and grabbed a can of cranberry sauce. After popping the top off, she dug in with a spoon, eating it straight from the can.

Dean stared at her, fascinated and disgusted.

"What?" she asked through a mouthful of the delicious tart berries. "Cranberry sauce is the best part of Thanksgiving, anyways."

"Pie?!" Dean tossed his arms up. "Thanksgiving is pie holiday. Pieee!" He called the word like a junkie whining for his drug of choice.

Sam just shook his head.

"I think there's some canned pumpkin if ya feel like pullin' an Amelia," Bobby suggested, chuckling cruelly.

Dean pouted, and Amelia half expected him to throw a fit. The pain from a strained wrist and a nice assortment of bruises made him cranky.

"We'll make some pie tomorrow, ok?" Sam tried to placate his older brother. "We all should get some sleep now, though. Ellen, do you need anything before we turn in?"

Amelia slipped away to the panic room, still munching on her cranberry sauce, and deposited her things on the floor. Even though she had gotten quite a bit of sleep on the way up, she wouldn't turn down the chance of another few hours of uninterrupted shut eye. She was still recovering from blowing up the vampires and the injuries she had received. Taking a final bite of cranberries, she rolled into her bed, took a deep breath, and relaxed into the lumpy mattress that smelled like home. Just before she drifted off, a small smile lit up her tired face. Practicing making fire had certainly come in handy. No denying that.

_The vampire smiled, its fangs bloody, as it stalked towards Amelia. She cowered against the wall, shivering. It came closer, and she could smell the blood. Slowly, it leaned towards her neck, and kissed her skin in a sick parody of a lover's caress. Then she felt the cold teeth pierce her neck, and her own warm blood trickle down her neck._

_ "Kill it," the demon whispered in her ear. "Kill it, you can kill it."_

_ No, she couldn't use her powers, she couldn't give into the demon._

_ The vampire laughed as it drank her blood, and Amelia flinched. The vampire exploded into pieces, bathing her in blood and bones._

_ "Good," the demon petted her cheek, "you're doing so well."_

She woke up when her burning blankets blankets started to scorch her skin. Swearing, she stomped out the fire, and sat back down on her bed, breathing hard, clutching her head. She had to calm back down or she would get another panic attack, and she was not in the mood for that again. After a few minutes, her breathing steadied, and she risked standing up. The world spun around her, but she gritted her teeth, and walked up the stairs to start the morning coffee. A huge pot, with six hunters in the house. Itching the vampire bite on her arm absentmindedly, she sipped her scalding coffee, trying to wake up.

After her second cup, she started a batch of pancakes. Bobby was the first one to come down, followed shortly by Dean, who mutely grabbed his coffee and stared into the depths like it contained the mysteries of the universe. He was in his third cup before he said a word to either of them. Bobby threw the well-defrosted turkey in the oven, and they munched away on pancakes. Jo wandered down a while later, taking the steps carefully and well bundled up, but smiling. The bandages on her neck were still painfully visible, but some of her color was starting to come back. She sat down to pancakes without a word.

Sam drifted in, long hair still tousled from his night's rest, and had to wait for the next batch of coffee to brew. Ellen came down last after taking a shower.

They were all still in various stages of un-rest, whether due to bothersome injuries or nightmares, so no one really said anything as they nursed their mugs of coffee and ate pancakes. The mood lightened a little once the morning dose of pain pills kicked in, but they settled in for a long, lazy day.

Jo coached Dean through baking pumpkin pie, the resultant pie being surprisingly edible. Amelia peeled and boiled some potatoes, judging that she couldn't mess that up, so they had mashed potatoes, too.

Sometime in the early afternoon, they tucked in to the turkey, and had their delayed Thanksgiving dinner. Compared to the riotous Christmas the year before, the celebration was subdued, but no one could accuse the hunters of being unthankful. Merely the fact that they were all alive, even if they had bites and bruises, was enough to be thankful.

Everyone settled in to heal and sleep for a few days.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

One night after Jo had gone to bed early, Ellen came back downstairs and interrupted the poker game in the kitchen.

"Look, ya'll, I really don't know how to say this," she crossed her arms. "I know it wasn't your fault Jo got hurt, Dean, Sam, but if somethin' happens to her, I don't want to have to blame one of you for it and lose someone else, too. I spent a lot of years mad at your daddy, and I don't want to spend any time mad at you boys. I guess what I'm tryin' to say, is I don't think we can hunt together anymore. If I lose her, the only I can stand to blame is myself. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."

"Night boys, Amelia," she left, and walked back upstairs.

Dean tried to cover his stricken expression as he dealt out the next hand.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Jo didn't sleep well, with her sore neck and the drugs. Often in the middle of the night, she would take the long trek down the stairs to the panic room, where she and Amelia had long conversations while the others slept. They talked about anything, just for something to say when neither of them could sleep. Lucky Charms, or their favorite books, or the sound water fountains make. Lazy conversations made up of whatever thoughts drifted through their midnight brains.

Sometimes Jo passed out on the bed, and Amelia would keep watch the rest of the night, not trusting herself to sleep with Jo so close and still so weak. Sometimes Amelia fell asleep, and she would wake up the next morning, blanket tucked around her and Jo gone.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Sam and Dean left first. Dean itched to get out on the road again, in spite of the lazy days and supply of cheap alcohol. He and Jo had reached an unspoken agreement of sorts. It was obvious to everyone that they favored each other, but romantic relationships had never worked out well for either of them, and they didn't want to mess their friendship up. Especially when they were wary of angering Ellen. So they ended up dancing around the topic of dating, never actually bringing it up. But whenever they were in the same room, they always ended up sitting next to each other, and to Amelia's amusement often ended up staring into each other's eyes.

In a last minute decision, Amelia went with Sam and Dean. She hadn't entirely recovered from the vampire incident. Migraines hit her out of nowhere, even when she hadn't been practicing extinguishing fire, and she didn't trust herself to hunt alone. Or even drive when the headaches were the worst. The Winchesters might be overprotective and they would certainly freak out if they found out about the demon blood, but she would at least have someone to bring her Chinese takeout and aspirin when the headaches were bad. She had also completely cut out practicing with fire, at least until the headaches dissipated, so she didn't have to worry about them finding that way. Over the last week, she had gotten herself in the habit of sleeping on her stomach, hands safely trapped under her body. It drastically reduced the chance of fire catching, and she trusted herself to hold together enough to actually hunt with the brothers.

There had been a few times she woke up from a nightmare without starting her blankets on fire, but without the catalyst of the fire to encourage her to move, she would just lay there curled up in a tiny ball, not able to cope with the aftereffects of the nightmares.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Dean sang along to Metallica as he pulled the Impala out onto the highway, heading to a potential case in Michigan. Sam reviewed the information on the case, silent in the front seat. Staring out the window, Amelia watched the uniform whiteness of Minnesota roll by for a while. Eventually, the hum of the tires and Dean's soft singing lulled her to sleep, and she passed out against the window. No nightmares. Apparently the Impala acted as some sort of antidote to her horrible dreams. She wasn't going to argue.

Amelia always tried to get her sleep in the Impala after that. Blissful hours of sleep between towns, a half hour nap here, five minutes there. Dean didn't say anything, if he even noticed, but Amelia often saw Sam studying her in his mirror when she woke up after a quick nap.

"You should sleep, Amy," he told her, when he woke up in the middle of the night and she was still up researching on her computer...

Sam shook his head when she came into the motel room at five in the morning after a nice long run...

"When are you going to sleep," he muttered when they worked a case for a week and she ran on pretty much no sleep because they didn't drive the Impala much and she couldn't catch a nap. She just smiled thinly at him, and drank more coffee. The headaches grew steadily worse, and she didn't practice with fire at all...

Finally, somewhere in Nevada, when Amelia hadn't gotten more than three hours of sleep in four days, Sam hit his breaking point.

In the middle of the afternoon, she sat at the little rickety table, trying to focus her eyes on the blob of light her computer screen had become. Sam looked over her notes, trying to decipher the chicken scratch of her handwriting. Dean was out doing Dean things. After a few minutes of staring at the paper, Sam threw it down in disgust.

"Amelia," he snapped, "bed. Sleep. Now."

Glancing up from her computer, Amelia just blinked at him. No sleep was preferable to sleep plagued by nightmares.

"I'm fine," she snapped back, knowing that he wouldn't believe it, and not caring.

"I don't know what you're trying to avoid by staying awake, but you have to get some sleep." He showed her the sheet of paper, and even Amelia couldn't make out a single word on it.

"Half of this is ancient Greek letters. You were writing in English, Amy."

He certainly had a point there. But the nightmares. She ran a hand over her tired, aching eyes, and wished she could just ignore him. Wished he would stop pressing her.

"I know what nightmares are like," he persisted. "Believe me, I do. But trust me, you're only hurting yourself. Get some sleep, please."

Blinking back the beginnings of a migraine, Amelia sighed, a dull resignation coming over her blood shot eyes. He was right, after all. Much more and she would probably pass out at the table.

"Fine. Just so you shut up."

She slammed her computer shut, took the one step to Sam's bed, she trusted it way more than Dean's, and collapsed on top of the rumpled blankets. The pillow did feel wonderful under her screaming head, and she fervently hoped she wouldn't burn it in her sleep. After making sure her hands were tucked securely under her body, Amelia finally allowed herself to go to sleep.

An hour or so later, she woke up screaming her throat raw.

"Amy!" Sam's voice came from a long way off, as she clutched her hands around her head to stave off the demon's bloody hand that was so close to pressing over her mouth, forcing her to drink the choking blood. The fire, the demons, the vampires... Her father. A royal buffet of nightmare fuel.

"Amy," she felt the bed depress under his weight, and a soft touch on her shoulder. "Amy, hey there. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She tuned him out, as she tried to forget the images, but couldn't help but remember them. The memory of the demon was never far enough away. Her entire body clenched up tight, shaking, and her heart rattled around her chest. Her breath came in sharp, pained gasps.

"Stay with me, hmm?" he rubbed her shoulder, trying to reassure her that she wasn't alone.

But, like it so often happened when she woke up from her nightmares, she simply didn't have the will to move. The images overwhelmed her, terrified her, and she curled into a tight ball, either having a panic attack, or trying to prevent one. She was never quite sure which, through the numbness of her thoughts.

It barely registered in her mind when Sam carefully gathered her up into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time.

"You don't get nightmares when you sleep in the car, do you," he said, after a long while.

The dreams had faded enough for her to give the tiniest shake of her head.

"I'm sorry you get them," Sam said. "But you _have_ to sleep sometime."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

"Could see if I can wake you up if you get another nightmare," Sam considered. "You might start twitching or moving around."

After suppressing a shudder, Amelia pulled away from him and stood up, running a still-shaking hand through her hair. "No way I'm sleeping any more today," she told him, bitterly. Her body was tired down to her bones, so exhausted she felt it as a physical ache, but she wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if she even wanted to.

Sam gave her a sad, puppy dog look, but she steeled herself against it.

"Going for a run, see you 'round supper time," she told him, and escaped out the door.

* * *

**I admit that I occasionally do eat cranberry sauce straight from the can, to pretty much everyone's disgusted fascination. :) It is totally the best part of Thanksgiving. **

**Drawing close-ish to the end here. Maybe 15K words left, plus a maybe few short epilogues if I feel like writing them. Prepare yourself for action, drama, and feels. You can't say I didn't warn you!**


	23. Chapter 23

After that, once or twice a week, Amelia would grab a short nap in the motel room, always with her hands underneath her, always with Sam present. Most of the time he managed to wake her up before the nightmares got too bad. Some times he ended up trying to comfort her as she fought through a panic attack. Sam never asked her what she dreamed about, and she never supplied. Once she started a tiny fire, but managed to put it out before he noticed. The headaches slowly improved, and she started practicing with fire again. One day, quite by accident, she discovered that in addition to making fire and flames, she could also manipulate the heat of objects, which entirely broke thermodynamics. That was much easier to practice than fire, and sometimes sitting in the backseat of the Impala, she would melt ice cubes for hours on end. She found it very cathartic.

In December the trio investigated a case involving decapitated bodies and missed Christmas at Bobby's. A ghost broke Dean's arm in January, pissing the hunter off completely. At least until the drugs kicked in.

"C'mon S'mmy," Dean whined, in the front seat of the Impala. "Lemme drive, man."

Amelia pulled a pillow around her head. He was insufferable when he high on drugs.

"You'd crash the Impala," Sam reminded him. "Wouldn't want that now, would we? Go to sleep."

"Wanna drive," Dean argued, already starting to fall asleep against the window.

They were somewhere in Colorado, headed towards South Dakota and Bobby's to recuperate. Sam had been driving for hours, ever since New Mexico, but his patience never wore thin with his brother. Finally, he couldn't drive any more, and started looking for motels to crash at for the night.

"I could drive you know," Amelia suggested from the back seat, without any hope of her offer being taken up. "I'm totally rested up."

Sam glanced in the rear view mirror, considering it. "Dean would kill us both if he found out."

"I don't want to be in same car as drugged Dean any longer than you do," she muttered, but resigned herself to a long night awake in the motel while the brothers slept.

"Well, hopefully he doesn't wake up," Sam said, making his decision, and stopped the car on the side of the road so they could switch spots. "Drive safe," he said, once he was sprawled out in the back seat, already drifting off.

"Yep," Amelia said to no one in particular, and put the Impala in gear. The accelerator was touchy, or maybe that was Amelia's way of putting the car through its paces, but she made very good

time through Colorado. And into Nebraska.

She glanced back at Sam, who drooled against the window. Dean was passed out in the front seat. Perfect.

Amelia settled down in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position on the bench seat. The Impala was certainly different than her Firebird, but she could appreciate the car. And it could definitely roll down the highway.

"'Meel-ya?" Dean grunted, staring at her unevenly.

Crap! "Oh, you're awake," Amelia tried not to panic. "How're you feeling?"

"Ok?" he continued studying her. "Yer drivin'!"

"Yep," she used her best nonchalant voice. "Because Sam's sleeping, and you're sleeping."

"Wait," he pondered this. "I'm sleepin'?"

Dean Winchester did not react well to pain killers.

"Yes, Dean," Amelia told him in all seriousness, "you're sleeping. Now would you mind being quiet so I can concentrate on driving?"

Dean considered this for a few miles. "I'm sleepin' right now... But why're you driving' my baby?"

"You're sleeping, you can't drive."

Dean didn't talk for so long that Amelia thought he had fallen asleep again. "Yer ok, y'know. But that don't mean ya cahn jest drive mah baby," he slurred, half asleep. "Sammy... Sammy deserves some'un, y'know... Tough life. I dunno if it's you 'r not... 'E's a good kid. Won't be mad if ya... if ya... y'know..." Dean drifted off to sleep.

Dean wouldn't mind if her and Sam got together? Sam was nice, as far as men went, sweet, caring... She felt bad lying to him about the demon blood, about the nightmares, because he was so sweet. But he was still a hunter. He had given his life to chasing down monsters. At the least, she didn't want him to treat her any differently, at the worst she hoped he wouldn't help Dean kill her when the time came. No, she wouldn't get close, not now, that meant they would find out quicker, and she was fine with how things were at the moment. Amelia still considered that bit of information for the next few hundred miles, until she pulled off the interstate into a small town, and drove up in front of a certain house with a for-sale sign in the front yard. Three in the morning, beautiful. Probably would get arrested for suspicious behavior if nothing else.

Sam stirred in the backseat as she got out and walked up the sidewalk. Amelia took out her lockpicks, and soon had the deadbolt turned. She was working on the doorknob when she heard the door of the Impala creak.

"Amy?" Sam's sleepy voice called out. "What the hell are you doing?"

She glanced back. Sam had his feet on the curb and was climbing out of the car.

"Just stay back Sam," she warned him. "This is something I have to take care of myself. You'll just mess it up if you try to help."

"But," he took a good look at the house, and drew a sharp breath as he recognized it, "this is where your family was killed."

Amelia stepped inside and slammed the door. Darkness and silence pressed around her, and she took a few deep breaths to steady her heart before fishing out her flashlight and flipping it on. The carpet had been changed, no doubt due to the last carpet being soaked in blood. She took another breath, but this time she could see her breath hanging in the air. She hadn't been wrong, then. That distracted her from thinking about the bloody floor.

Dark laughter echoed through the house. Steeling her nerves, Amelia stepped forward, flashlight in one hand, salt in the other.

"Hey dad," she called out, sing-song and bitter. "I'm home."

A vague shape fluttered to her left, and she jerked the beam of her flashlight towards it. Nothing. She continued her walk through the dark house.

"Where'd ya go?" she prodded. "Not going to tell me what an awful daughter I am?"

She felt a sudden rush of frozen air on her back, then something tossed her forward and she crashed into the far wall with a grunt. Amelia spun, salt at the ready, and saw her father, glowering in the middle of the room, outline quivering in anger. Even on his ghost she could smell whiskey. He disappeared a second later, and a coffee table flew across the room.

"I crashed the Firebird," she shouted out, laying down some salt. "Burning heap of wreckage. Made it to 140 though. Pretty exciting-"

Her father's ghost appeared in front of her, and slapped her across the face with his cold hand.

"Stupid, worthless girl," the ghost roared, slapping her again, "you never appreciated what I did for you!"

Without a word, she took the beating, like she had taken every beating before.

"I worked for you, and you repaid me by making trouble with that stupid brother of yours, and running away when I was working!"

Again her father yelled in anger. Blood ran down Amelia's face, and she could taste blood in her mouth from a split lip. She dangled, limp, from his grasp, eye already swelling shut.

"What the hell did I do to deserve you?!"

He leaned forward, and tossed her against the wall again. Amelia slumped to the floor, and groaned, holding her head. Her father took a step forward, fact contorted in rage. Another step, and he was almost to her.

"I should have killed you a long time ago," he growled reaching out, and the salt line stopped him.

Amelia raised her head, with a bloody smile. "Got you," she spat out a mouthful of blood. "Try getting out of that, you bastard. Circle of pure salt." She tossed a handful at him, for good measure, and he screamed in pain before he disappeared disappearing.

She used the wall to stand up, dabbing at her bloody lip.

"Anyone else home?" she called out to the now quiet house.

After a few seconds, laughter again echoed around the house. Not the laughter of an angry ghost, though.

"Marie," Amelia called out. "Marie? Your aunt's here, where ya hiding?"

She heard tiny little footsteps, and stepped out into the hall. "I'm not going to hurt you Marie."

Suddenly a small shape rushed out of the darkness, and latched itself around Amelia's leg.

"Hey there," Amelia smiled down at her niece.

The little kid looked up at her, and beamed. "Auntie Amy!" the ghost hugged her leg, cuddling against her.

"Sorry I was gone for so long, kiddo," she told the little ghost. "Kind of creepy here, huh?"

Her niece shuddered, and disappeared.

"I'm sorry, Marie!" Amelia called out, and she heard tiny weeping from upstairs.

"I'm so sorry," she closed her eyes and took a breath to steady herself. "It's better this way."

She glanced around the house for one last time, her father, raging but trapped inside the salt line, her niece skittering around.

"Bye Marie," she said, softly. "And burn in hell, you bastard," she called out to her father, who still struggled against the salt.

Taking a breath, she raised her hands. Fire rushed out eagerly, attacking the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The wood took the flame, and soon crackled from the heat. She walked to the door, still burning, lit darkly by the hungry orange flames.

Releasing the flames which would burn the house to the ground on their own now, she tossed the front door open. She strode from the house, letting it burn behind her. Sam and Dean stood slack jawed by the Impala, and she would have joined them, never looking at the house again, had not a gentle, hesitant touch on her shoulder stopped her. More a question than a touch really, ready to pull away at the slightest sign it wasn't wanted. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped so short she nearly fell on her face. But the hand grabbed her shoulder, providing just enough pressure to keep her upright. It had to be a dream, but when had anything halfway decent ever happened in one of her dreams?

Amelia turned, heart fluttering like a dying thing, and there he stood. Paul, smiling at her sadly, hand hovering over her shoulder.

Not bothering to hold back her sob, she threw her arms around him, and then his arms were around her. The only touch in the whole world she had ever trusted.

"Hey Aim," he whispered, and she was five years old again and her father had just screamed at her for not the first time, and the only place in the world nothing could harm her was Paul's arms. He would hold her until she fell asleep, and would continue holding her until she woke up again.

His cold, ghost fingers wiped some of the blood from her mouth. "I tried to keep him from hurting people," he told her. "But I wasn't strong enough. That poor woman who moved in here got beat up."

She shook her head, her face buried in his shoulder, and she never, ever wanted to lose him again. "He's not hurting anyone ever again, Paul," she told him. "I've learned a few things since you... since you died."

Paul stroked her hair. "There there, little sister," he comforted her as she started sobbing again.

"I missed you, Paul," she told him, tears running down her face for the first time in forever. "God, I missed you so much."

"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here. I can protect you now. You don't have to be scared."

Her breath hitched again. "You can't stay Paul," she reminded herself as much as him. "You have to move on."

"No!" he shouted, and he stepped back so he could look into her eyes. "I'm staying. I'm your brother, it's my job to protect you!"

"Paul," she clutched at him, trying to make him see. "I don't want you to go, but, I've seen ghosts. Whatever they start out as, they always turn!"

"I'm not leaving you!" he yelled, and his hand gripped so tight it left bruises on her arm. "Are they going to protect you?" he nodded to Sam and Dean, and his voice dropped, pleading with her. "They drink as much as _he_ did, and you're scared of them, aren't you?"

He was picking up on her emotions, somehow, her fear that they would discover her secret. "I can help, whatever is happening, you know I'll help you no matter what." Paul wiped the tears off her face. "I'm your brother, I'm not changing into anything else."

For a few wild seconds, his hand cradling her face, Amelia let herself consider it. Her brother, always beside her, to wake her up if she was having a nightmare, to always have her back no matter what. Never alone. His ghost powers could be useful in a hunt. Nothing could hurt her without going through him first. Paul, whom she loved more than anything in the world. She could be safe, protected. God, she wanted him back more than anything in the world, but her arm throbbed.

But she shook her head, her heart shattering in her chest, and held out her arm, so the bruises that his ghost-fingers had left were clearly visible in the flickering light of the burning house.

"You're already changing Paul," she told him, miserably.

When he saw the bruises, his eyes went huge in shock, and he took a step back, holding up his hands. "Aim, I'm so sorry. I'm... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she whispered, mopping off her face wearily. "I know Paul."

She nodded to the house, where they could hear the angry roars of their father and the frightened screams of Marie as they burned.

"You need to be with your daughter," she laid a hand on Paul's cold arm. "She's scared. I'm going to be alright. I promise."

"Aim," Paul's face twisted up, and he pulled her in for one last desperate hug. "Aim."

"I love you Paul," she told him, and then his arms were gone and he was gone and she felt so, so cold. She opened her eyes and for a second saw him in the doorway, a darker silhouette against the fire raging inside the house. He smiled sadly over his shoulder, raised his hand, and the door flew shut.

For a second, Amelia battled the desire to bolt up the sidewalk and join him in the burning house. She couldn't lose him again, her brother, her other half. If he couldn't live, then she wouldn't live, and she would burn with him like she did in her dreams every night. But she forced herself to turn from the house, hands in tight, bloodless fists, and walked back to the Impala. She didn't say a word to Sam or Dean, just leaned up against the side of the car and watched the house burn. Her father's screams she enjoyed, and Marie's cries she could grit her teeth and bear, but when Paul started to scream, Amelia shook.

"You don't have to stay," Sam told her, and she nearly slapped him for that.

"It's my brother," she snapped. "My family."

He backed off after that, letting her be.

After a few minutes, she heard Dean beside her.

"Here."

She glanced at him, and the square bottle of whiskey he offered her.

"Dean," Sam warned, but with a bitter smile, she took the bottle from his hand.

And as her family burned, Amelia raised the bottle to the house in a sort of salute, and put it to her lips, drinking deep of the fiery liquid.

They let her stay a few more minutes, drinking the whiskey, until the screams stopped and the windows burst out.

"We have to go," Sam told her. "The fire department and police will be here any minute."

She let them take the bottle, and stow her back in the car. After Dean shut the door, Amelia curled up against the window, staring outside numbly.

"Amy-" Sam started, pulling the car out into the street. Tired, oh so tired, she turned from the window and cut him off with a single look.

"I kept an eye on the house, saw some weird activity, and decided to check it out when we were close, end of story. If you _ever _bring it up again," she warned, and not able to think of a proper threat, left it unfinished. Amelia returned to staring out her window as the wonderful numbing affects of the alcohol crept up on her.

"Yer face's bleedin'," Dean told her, reaching over the seat with a wet cloth. He dabbed off the cuts on her face. "Don't needa bandage," he declared, and flopped down on the seat again. Soon his snores filled the silence, and as the warmth of the whiskey spread over her, Amelia drifted off, too.

* * *

**I did warn you! Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think. :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Prepare yourselves! This is one of the more intense chapters I've ever written. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

Amelia slept away the time at Bobby's, drinking heavily to dull the nightmares that had gotten so much worse. Sam disapproved, hell, even Bobby with all his drinking disapproved. She didn't have it in her to care. Mainly she passed the time playing poker with Dean, trying to learn the game better. He at least didn't treat her differently. Sure, maybe a few half-sympathetic glances when he thought she wasn't looking, but he didn't act like she was going to shatter. Out of all of them, Dean understood her method of coping. Bury it. Cover it with a few gallons of alcohol. Never talk about it, and think about it as little as possible.

One of the brothers told Bobby about burning the house (almost certainly Sam) and he tried to bring the topic up once. She gave him such a vitriolic look he immediately dropped the subject and never brought it up again.

The next day she packed up the Firebird. She wouldn't sleep as well since she couldn't nap in the backseat while someone else drove, but she needed to get out of the house and away from the pitying, disapproving looks. For whatever reason, the headaches had finally started improving, and she wanted to start practicing with fire again. The ease with which she had torched the house disturbed her; she had to continue to practice putting out fires. Not to mention less headaches meant more opportunities to run, and she certainly couldn't do that in snow-bound South Dakota.

Bobby wasn't happy when she left, he frowned deep into his beard, but he didn't try to persuade her to stay. He knew her well enough not to try.

So she drove off again, bucking a few snow drifts on the rural road until she reached the highway. Turning south, Amelia drove until she left the snow behind, and kept driving. Texas sounded nice, and she had found a couple of half-marathons she could start training for.

She started in Texas, drifted over to California for a few marathons in February, and ended up in Georgia on a ghost case with Garth in March. It ended successfully, which meant that she hadn't strangled him and they were both alive. A few days later she found a university library with an entire section of Latin and Greek books on mythology. She took a break from active hunting for a while after that, holing up reading for hours on end.

Her ability with fire had improved over the months, and while she still got headaches when she used the fire, to Amelia's immense relief her other headaches had almost disappeared. The nightmares had also steadily gotten better, to the point where she could get three or four consecutive hours of sleep. She relished the sleep, and since she didn't go out on hunts, gradually relaxed.

Which would explain why, when she occupied her favorite corner of the library, nose deep in a book, she didn't notice the demons enter. She whistled along quietly to the music playing in her headphones, taking careful notes on her computer.

Suddenly her computer screen flickered for a second, and went black. Snatching her earbuds from her ears, Amelia reached for her holy water, but the demon already had her wrist in its strong grasp.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis-" the demon slammed her head against the wall, and she blacked out a second later.

Amelia woke up with cold irons holding her wrists high above her head, pressing sharply on the bruises that ringed her arms. She had a tight gag in her mouth that made it hard to breathe, and her head pounded. The back of her head throbbed where the demon had slammed her into the wall. She tried to swallow around the gag, to make her breathing easier, and almost choked. It took her a few minutes to breathe right again, and she let herself hang quietly after that. She was in some sort of run down, empty room, maybe an apartment building, maybe an abandoned warehouse.

She had a few consolations, as she stood alone for hours, muscles aching, wheezing around the gag in her mouth. Whenever she moved on to a new town, she always emailed Bobby the information, and once she had found the library, she kept up an almost daily correspondence with the hunter of material she had gleaned from the mythology books. He would soon realize she had stopped emailing, and would know something had happened. She just had to hold herself together until he sent help.

After a long time, she heard footsteps echo down the hall, slowly coming closer. The suspense was agony. An eternity of hovering on the edge of a panic attack, and a demon strolled through the door. But not just any demon. _The_ demon. The one who had infected Amelia with her blood, and haunted her dreams almost every night.

"Hello," the demon said, cheerfully, and walked over to Amelia. "Long time no see, how's the hunting going?"

She studied Amelia for a few seconds, then laughed. "Silly me, I forgot to take off your gag."

The demon reached up and removed the spit soaked piece of cloth.

"There, that better?"

She patted Amelia on the cheek with a kind smile. Amelia shuddered, and tried to move away but the chains held her tight.

"Oh, honey," the demon reproved her. "Tired of me so quickly? We haven't even gotten started."

"Go back to hell, bitch," Amelia growled, doing her best Dean impression.

The demon clucked. "You shouldn't spend so much time around the Winchesters, your manners are awful."

"What do you want from me?" Amelia asked. Seeing the demon in her dreams every night had desensitized her to the demon in real life, apparently. After the initial shock, her heart beat only a touch faster than normal.

"I thought you knew?" the demon looked confused. "I want your soul. I want it to burn in hell, until you're refined into something more pure."

Amelia knew that from her first conversation with the demon. "So what's with the blood? My soul's still mine. Case you haven't noticed, I haven't sold it off."

The demon laughed loudly at that, casting her head back, and Amelia's heart beat faster.

"Oh, sweetie, do you really think you're going to heaven with demon blood running through you veins? Especially when you've embraced it, oh yes I've been watching you. Marvelous progress. The way you can make fire..." She smiled. "It's beautiful. Inspired."

"Why don't you kill me, then?" Amelia spat. "I'm not turning into a demon when I'm still topside."

"I'm patient," the demon explained, matter-of-factly. "I've waited a long time for this, I've fought through hell and demons and angels for this." She touched Amelia's cheek reverently. "I'm not going to let it get messed up."

The demon took a knife out of her pocket, and slashed open her hand once more. Amelia clenched her jaw shut. She had seen the action a hundred times, a million times in her dreams, and her brave act was slipping away.

"I know this is your second time, but we'll still take it slow," the demon said, in a soft, soothing tone, reaching up to run her hand through Amelia's hair.

Amelia was gasping for air now, and her whole body shook. She screwed her eyes shut.

"Shhh," she felt the cold finger trail down her face. "Shhh, there."

Then the hand was over her mouth, and she could taste the blood on her tongue, and she was crying, oh god she was crying as the demon forced her to choke down the blood. And the whole time, she felt the demon run its hand over her face, through her hair, down her back, crooning comforts to her. Amelia gagged on the salty blood as it filled her mouth and trickled slowly down her throat, but the demon made her swallow every drop. As it caressed her. After a century, the demon finally took its hand away.

"Hush now," the demon wiped away her tears. "It gets better, darling."

Amelia hung limp from the chains, and she heard the demon walk away. Tears rinsed off some of the blood that was smeared over her face, but not all of it, and she could feel it as it dried, sticky and revolting.

She could still feel the touch of the demon's hand on her skin, the blood twisted her stomach into a tight knot, and Amelia would have burned her flesh off for the chance to feel clean again. She spat, again and again, until she ran out of spit, but she couldn't rinse the taste of blood from her mouth. The buzzing started in her mind, all too well remembered from her first experience with the demon blood.

Time seemed to slow, and her every sense became hypersensitive. She could hear water drip out in the hall, and every splash echoed like thunder. Phantom touches ran across her body, and smells assaulted her nose. She couldn't escape, couldn't even scratch her shoulder when it itched.

After a long time, Amelia raised her head, and studied the chains around her wrists. Thick iron bands. No way she could slip out of them, and she couldn't burn through them without burning off her hands as well. Before she went to that extreme, she would give Bobby and the other hunters a little more time. She let her head fall back down to her chest. Her bad shoulder started to hurt from being held in such an uncomfortable position. After a while, Amelia drifted off into numbness, helped by the drug-like quality of the demon blood.

She woke up to the demon forcing her to drink more blood.

"No room service here, Aim," the demon told her cheerfully.

"Don't call me that," she hissed through the blood, and kicked out at the demon, landing a foot in its stomach.

She jumped, grabbing the chain in her hand so she wouldn't hang by her wrists, and pulled herself up, spinning. Her foot connected to the demon's head, and it stumbled back a few steps. The blood gave her strength.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Amelia yelled, and lit the demon on fire, the flames easily coming to life with the power of the demon blood in her system. Its clothes blazed up in sudden flame, and the demon let out a scream as the exorcism started to take affect. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis-"

Amelia's mouth opened and closed without a sound coming from it, and with a flick of her wrist, the demon extinguished the fire that burned her clothes. It was breathing heavily, though, as it stalked back up to her, and savagely clamped its bleeding hand over her mouth.

"I give you power!" the demon roared, her eyes going black, blood pouring into Amelia's mouth, "people would kill for this power, stupid little girl. And you reject my gift!"

The demon didn't caress her this time. Instead, she abused Amelia. Slaps and sharp cuffs that left bruises on her skin, and drew blood in some places.

The demon left Amelia shaking uncontrollably, drooling blood, head dangling low as the horror of her situation crashed over her time and again. This was her personal hell. Bad enough when she could wake up from it and spend her emotion in a panic attack, but there was no waking up from this. No release from the terror. Only more fear. After a long time, her power of speech came back, but she swore off speaking entirely around the demon. It simply wasn't worth it.

Amelia lost track of time. Periodically, the demon would come and administer her dose of demon blood, either with abuses and slaps, or kind words and caresses that were somehow so much worse. Otherwise, they left her completely alone in the room, standing uncomfortably straight so she didn't strain her shoulder. No food or water. She slept when absolutely necessary, shoulders and wrists screaming in pain as she dangled, head nodding forward in uncomfortable, unrestful sleep. She never used fire, either on the chains or against the demon again. It was what they wanted, even if it nothing would have pleased her more than roasting the demons alive.

After an eternity of hanging there, the high from the blood never wore off. The humming in her brain never dimmed, and her senses were keyed up to the point of snapping. The demon woke her up once with a firecracker, and with her sensitive hearing the sudden sound made her scream for pain, trying to muffle her ears from the agony of pure sound piercing her mind.

She didn't know how much time had passed: hours, days, weeks. She couldn't remember if she had decided to wait until someone came, or wait until the demons killed her. Or if anyone would come for her. There was nothing in her mind but the throbbing of the demon blood.

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**Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry! Another cliff hanger, I know, don't chase after meee! I'll post again soon, don't shoot the author. :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**BrySt1: Yay! Thank you so much. :D And it's not too weird that the torture made you happy, it was a lot of fun for me to write, actually. :)**

**wandertogondor: It has been fun watching you catch up, glad you're up to speed. Thank you for all the wonderful comments I really appreciate it! :D**

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Another eternity passed, and then one time after forcing her to drink blood, the demon unhooked the ancient handcuffs from the chain, and the pressure holding her up was gone. Amelia simply folded to the ground, gasping in pain as her stiff arms and legs moved for the first time in days. The iron cuffs, still attached to her wrists, chafed as she moved her arms, but she could deal with that for the moment. She lay on the floor without a will to move, clutching her sore arms over her chest, curling up in a ball, thankful for any sort of release.

"Visitors, dear," the demon had been cordial that day, and she pulled Amelia up off the floor with her demon powers, setting her on her feet. "Why don't you try walking, hmm?"

Mutely, Amelia let the demon herd her slowly through the hallways. The floor tipped and spun underneath her, and her vision did strange things, sometimes telescoping down the hall so she could see a spider scurry across a wall thirty feet away, sometimes going completely blurry to where she couldn't see the ground beneath her shaking feet.

She reached the end of the hall, and waited for the demon to open the door before she shuffled mutely through.

"Amelia!"

Coming slowly out of her stupor, Amelia raised her tired eyes, and tried to find the owner of the voice.

Metal bars seemed to be everywhere around her. A prison, maybe. She could have been in an abandoned prison this whole time. Two of her other captors stood flanking the doorway, eyes shining blackly as they looked at her in disdain. She couldn't look at one thing for very long before the world danced around her and things went blurry.

"Amelia!"

The voice came again, not from any of the demons.

"My god, are you alright? What did they do to you?"

She finally found the owner. Dean stood in a cell a few yards away, gripping the bars that held him back, and staring at her. She couldn't focus on him. Her vision would zoom in on the bruises across his face, his dilated pupils, then rush out again to where she could barely make out his shape.

"Yes, Amelia, why don't you tell Dean what we've been doing?" the demon rested her hand on Amelia's shoulder, and she turned her head away in revulsion. She no longer had the energy or will to move further away.

"Get your hand off her, you bitch!" Dean roared, slamming his hand into the metal bars of the cell in futile rage.

"You're going to hurt my feelings," the demon pouted. "Don't you recognize me? I admit, this meat suit is a little... matronly."

"Crowley?" Dean sounded skeptical.

"Ha!" the demon laughed, and pulled out her knife to play with it. "You've gotten even more stupid, hard to believe."

"Meg," and his flat voice carried the weight of the world.

"Bingo, sweetheart," the demon laughed, and it reopened the cut on its hand, grabbed Amelia and shoved the bloody gash over her mouth.

Dean stood slack-jawed for a second, then exploded. "You poisoned her?" he growled. "Infected her with demon blood? You bastards! She was a good kid!"

"Well, the Winchesters know your little secret after all, dear," Meg told Amelia, sadly, as the girl retched and struggled for air under the tight grip of her hand. "And Dean," the demon raised her voice, "you of all people know you have to be introduced to demon blood young. We just jump started her abilities, which I have to say are quite impressive."

"Amelia," he said, low, fast, not even knowing if Amelia could hear him, "I'm so sorry, but they're going to use you, they have some plan, you can't let them use you. Find some way, any way to stop them-"

One of the demons appeared in Dean's cell, and started working him over. Amelia could hear his grunts as the demon laid into him.

"See, honey, any way to stop us," she consoled Amelia. "Including your death I think, hmm?"

The demon in the cell paused for a few moments, and Dean crouched on the ground holding a broken rib. He looked at Amelia, pain in his eyes, but didn't rush to defend his statement. She could see the pity in his green eyes. It made her sick.

"They're going to hunt you," she whispered in Amelia's ear as the blood trickled down her throat and set her insides on fire. "They're going to kill you, to prevent our big, bad conspiracy."

"Bobby," Amelia gasped through the blood, "Bobby... wouldn't..."

"Do you see Bobby here to defend you, hon?" Meg cradled Amelia's head in her hands. "There's just Dean. Hot-headed, shoot first Dean. Are you really going to put your life at his mercy?"

Something shifted in her mind then, something primal and instinctive.

"You want me to kill him," Amelia croaked, blood in a ring around her mouth, eyes unable to focus on anything but Dean getting punched to death in the cell.

"Oh you don't actually have to pull the trigger," Meg said. "But you must understand why we have to kill them."

"You said you were patient," Amelia said, staring at Dean. The newest dose of blood started to affect her, and she could see a thousand different ways the situation could end.

"I've waited a thousand years for this, a few more is nothing to me," Meg reassured her.

Amelia took a step back, heart pounding in her chest, studying Meg warily. Time slowed down as the blood heightened her senses to the breaking point. She looked back to Dean, and reached for the fire. Heat rushed to her, enhanced by the recent boost of blood, and fire sprang to life in the palm of her hand, every tiny flame composed of a million smaller fires. Her custom made fire-bomb, ready to go. She studied Dean for another second, then turning on her heel, Amelia slammed the flat of her palm against Meg's forehead.

"Guess you won't mind waiting a few more centuries then," she snarled as the Meg's head exploded and the body crumpled lifeless to the ground, leaving her splattered with gore. No headache, no bloody nose. Amelia smiled. Demon blood was the bee's knees.

The two other demons rushed her. Tossing her hands up, she pointed at their chests, and focused for a single second. Miming guns with her hands, she made a "pew" sound as she fake shot them. With a dull thud, their hearts exploded inside their chest, splintering their ribs outward, and turning their insides to soup. The demons fell to the floor in unison, vomiting blood and bone.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Amelia intoned as they writhed on the floor, before the demons could smoke out, "omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos."

Twin clouds of black smoke poured from the demons' mouths, and sank through the floor. The bodies collapsed in pools of their own blood. She watched the demons descend to hell. The screams of the damned echoed up to her blood-boosted hearing, and the heat of hell played against her skin. She was fascinated. Amelia glanced up. Dean cradled his side, staring at her through the bars of the cell.

Without a word, she stepped over the bloody corpses, and glanced at the metal door.

"Meg," he gasped through his pain, "Meg had the key."

In response, she smiled again. Maybe not such a reassuring expression when she still wore Meg's brain and skull.

She pointed her fingers, and slammed them into the gap where the swinging door latched to the wall. Barely having to focus, she applied intense heat to the latch mechanism, and in a few seconds the metal turned red hot, and started to drip away. Amelia pulled her hand away, flicking molten metal from her fingertips, grabbed the door, and tossed it open with a loud clang that seemed to split her skull open.

"Are Sam and Bobby here, too?" she stepped into the cell, took Dean's hand and pulled him upright.

"Uh," Dean's eyes seemed a little glassy. "Sam's here, yea. Bobby's still in South Dakota."

"The demons have your weapons, grab them, then split up and look for Sam," she walked out of the cell.

"I think we should stick together," Dean pressed a hand to his ribs, grimacing, as he limped after her her.

"Right, you're hurt," Amelia nodded. "Sure."

He let her believe that, as he scavenged his weapons off the corpses, unable to look away from the carnage.

"How long have I been here?" She concentrated on the manacles around her wrists, and melted the locks. She flung them off with a shudder.

"Uh, about four days we think," Dean stood up, sticking his knife back in his belt, and cradling his saltgun in his good hand.

"Awesome." Rubbing her wrists, Amelia led the way, flame flickering at her fingertips. She should have done that days ago. It had been laughably easy to blow off the demon's head. She couldn't feel any side affects. Amelia couldn't even remember why she had hesitated to use the fire. Dean walked silently behind her, saltgun in one hand, the other pressed to his side.

They checked the common room of the prison, and saw Sam walking towards them.

"Sammy!" Dean called out, limping towards him.

Sam smiled.

"Not Sammy," Dean raised his salt gun. At the distance it wouldn't hurt his little brother too much, but it would be hell for the demon wearing him.

Demon Sam flicked his hand to the side, and Dean flew through the air. He crashed to the ground, crumpling into a heap that didn't move. The movement caused Sam's shirt to fall open, displaying the anti-possession tattoo on his chest, all but burned off.

"Didn't take much pushing to get you to open up, huh, sweetie?" Sam, not-Sam, turned to Amelia.

"Meg," Amelia snarled, lowering into a fighting stance, flame crackling around her hands. It didn't burn her, she was its master. Even the molten metal hadn't hurt her. But she couldn't burn Meg, not in Sam's body. She wouldn't hurt Sam.

Meg/Sam continued walking towards her, and Amelia glanced around, looking for anything to use against the demon.

"What are you going to do now?" Meg asked her, using Sam's voice, but the inflection was all wrong. "You wouldn't kill precious Sammy," she did what Dean termed Sam's puppy face, "but then how are you going to get rid of little old demon me?"

Amelia backed up, still thinking, hands twitching.

"You don't seem to mind his touch so much," Meg considered. "Want to start over? Maybe you would like to try his blood, or maybe something a little more."

She contorted his face into a leering expression Amelia was sure Sam had never worn.

"Get out of him," Amelia swore, "bitch!"

"Make me," Meg laughed, and Sam's eyes flashed black as she flung his arms wide in the universal, 'come at me' gesture.

" Exorcizamus te-" Amelia started, hopelessly, and the next second found herself flying backwards to crash against the wall.

"You just don't learn," Meg/Sam sighed.

"Imma get seer-yus brain damahg frum 'is," Amelia slurred as the world spun around her. The blood pounded through her veins.

Sam took a few more steps, and then Amelia concentrated, harder than she ever had before. She pushed off the wall, and swept her arms up into the air, fingers clenched into claws as she brought fire into existence through intense determination.

Meg/Sam froze as fire roared to life from the ground in a perfect demon trap around them.

Amelia smiled, and held onto the fire. It was more fire than she had ever attempted before, but the demon blood pumped through her system, and she held it steady.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Amelia recited, and walked slowly towards Sam until her hands almost touched the tongues of fire. It was easier to keep the fire alive if she could be near it. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii," she continued, but blood started to trickle down her lip from the effort of keeping so much fire burning in a steady unbroken circle. "Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

Sam screamed, face contorted in pain, and he grabbed at his head.

"Ergo, draco maledicte," Amelia stubbornly kept going, but the trickle was a flood now and the screaming turned her brain to mush. It echoed again and again in her tired, drugged mind, chasing away thought and will. Even with the demon blood, it was too much fire, too much concentration for her battered body and mind.

"Ecclesiam tuam securi," she mumbled, and then her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. "Tibi... facias... libertate..."

Her bad shoulder gave out, and one hand fell shaking to her lap. The flames had died down, until they were a barely glowing blue ring on the floor.

"Servire... te..." she couldn't remember the words anymore. The inside of her head sounded like a redneck forth of July. "Ro... rogamus..."

Her other hand shook so much she nearly knocked herself in the face. But if the circle wasn't whole there was no point, and she couldn't remember the words of the exorcism.

The demon started laughing, through its own pain. "A for effort, Amelia," it snarled.

Amelia's hand fell to her lap, and she abandoned everything except the unbroken ring of fire that imprisoned the demon. Her vision started to close in, and her heart fluttered in her chest like a dying thing. She clung to the flames, pouring every last bit of pent up rage into them. She would die rather than let the fire die.

Sam put his hand up, testing the trap, ready to break out in a second's weakness. "We're going to be out soon," Meg said, sing-song, with Sam's voice. "Might have to wake you up with a kiss, hmm Aim?"

Just as Amelia started to pass out, still stubbornly keeping the flames burning, she heard a scuffle off from somewhere, and then a tired voice called out the two words she couldn't remember, and one she wanted to say with all her heart.

"Audi nos," Dean said. "Bitch."

Dean received Amelia's undying appreciation for tacking on that last word.

With a weary smile on her face, Amelia passed out to the sound of Sam's screams as he vomited out the demon.

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**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! **

**Partial explanation for the way some characters acted during this chapter: Don't get me wrong, I really like Meg and Dean's characters and I'm not trying to vilify them too much here. But if the Winchesters prevented Lucifer from being raised, I don't think Meg would have given up the fight. She would have used every opportunity to raise Lucifer from hell. She already possessed Sam once, she wouldn't hesitate to do it again.**

**And even though Dean would save anyone if given the chance, his first thought is always going to be protecting Sammy and he's willing to sacrifice anything to save his brother. The demons and their plan for Amy means that Sam is in danger from demons again. He's willing to help Sam with the demon blood because Sam is his brother, but he doesn't trust Amelia that much, or care about her in the same way. **

**I just thought that needed to be said so we're all on the same page. :) **


	26. Chapter 26

**A little respite here for you guys. Thanks for all the awesome reviews on the last chapter, that one was super intense for me to write and I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it. :)**

**BrySt1- Yay! I'm glad you're excited and that you liked the last chapter so much!**

**JoBethH- No kidding, I had a lot of respect for Amelia after that last chapter. He doesn't feel too bad, I don't think. It's not like he actually got a chance to hurt her.**

**wantertogondor- Thank you so much! I've been trying to get across the totally creepy factor of the demons, I'm glad it's working. Haha, glad I can help!**

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Amelia woke up in the parking lot of the prison, cradled in Sam's arms as he carried her.

The first thing she noticed was the pain in her head, and a second later she noticed that she was screaming at the top of her lungs, Sam vainly trying to comfort her. To cut off the scream, she snapped her jaw shut, clacking her teeth together jarringly.

"You're gonna be ok," Sam told her. "You're gonna be ok, Amy."

Her face, a sticky mess of blood and bruises and tears, bobbed in the air. The shifting view she had of blue sky directly above and the earth in the peripheral nearly made her throw up. But once in her system, the demon blood could not be expelled until entirely absorbed, so she just dangled in the air with her stomach roiling. She shut her eyes, tightly, and prayed for it to be over.

She heard the creak of the Impala's door, then Sam sat her carefully down. For that, she half-opened her eyes, and scooted herself along the back seat a few more millimeters. Sam helped her in a little further, then surprised her by sitting down beside her.

"Pills and water, Dean," he called out. "Do you have any broken bones?" he asked her, studying her face and limbs.

Amelia started shaking her head, then the world spun around her like a carnival ride, and if not for the demon blood, would have puked all over Dean's precious baby. It's worth nothing that this was the only time she was actually thankful for the blood. Sam held her from tipping over, and propped her up against his shoulder.

"No," she mumbled. At least, she didn't think so. The headache drowned out almost every other sensation in her body.

"She might have a concussion, but it's impossible to tell with the blood in her system screwing everything up."

"I have broken bones," Dean reminded Sam, and handed him bottle of water and a bottle of pills. He proceeded to study Amelia with narrow eyes in a way that made her very uneasy.

"Not..." she cleared her throat, and Sam gave her a sip of water, "not gonna blow my brains out in your baby, are ya Dean?" she chuckled weakly. Humor, the last defense of the hopeless.

With a dark expression on his face, Dean said, "course not. I'd take you outside first."

Sam cuffed him on the head with his bitch face on full power.

"Drive, motel, now. Amy," he turned back to her, "we're not going to hurt you. I promise. We're going to take you to Bobby's," he explained for Dean as much as her, "and we're going to get you sobered up. Then we can talk about this, but right now we're going to make sure you're ok."

He gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze that reminded Amelia way too much of Meg's touches. She started shaking, and again would have vomited but for the blood.

"Here, take these," Sam fished a couple pills out of the bottle, and displayed them before her on his palm, distracting her for the moment.

Trying to steady herself, Amelia let him drop them in her mouth, and took another drink of water to wash them down, dribbling water out of her mouth.

The water felt glorious. It started to wash away the taste of blood in her mouth, and she realized just how thirsty she was. As a bonus, it also distracted her from the imminent freak out, panic attack, or cryfest that loomed on the horizon. On the drive to the motel, Sam helped her drink the rest of the bottle and tried wiping some of the blood off her face without much success.

"Here, put this on," he helped her into one of his gigantic sweatshirts. "It'll hide some of the blood if someone sees us."

With an arm under her shoulder, she tried not to concentrate on the touch, he helped her out of the car, then lifted her up again to carry her to the motel room. He didn't seem to have much trouble carrying her, she must have lost quite a bit of weight.

"Is my motel," Amelia slurred. "'Ey, 'is my room..."

Dean opened the door.

"Hope you didn't mind us barging in, we had to check out everything," Sam told her as he carried her inside.

"What'vr." The invasion of her semi-personal space was pretty far down on her list at the moment.

He sat her down on the bed, and it took all her willpower not to collapse into the wonderful blankets and sleep off the horror.

"Dean, grab her stuff. I'll see if I can get you cleaned up and patched up." He started to walk into the bathroom, but Amelia interrupted him with a slurred word he couldn't make out.

"Sher," she mumbled again, then cleared her throat. "Shaow-werr."

"You can't even stand up, Amy," he tried to dissuade her.

"Show-wer," she insisted, and lurched to her feet. "Got blood err'whur. Cen too stand."

She took a shaky step, and he shook his head, snagging her elbow to help her walk.

"Don't lock the door in case you pass out," he told her as she stepped into the bathroom, and started to close the door.

"Shurr," she gave him a blank smile, and shut the door.

She managed to turn the water on without a problem. As she started to strip off her bloodsoaked clothes, though, her numb fingers couldn't seem to grab anything. Maybe not one of her best plans after all. But the shower looked so wonderful, and she wanted to feel clean and _human_ again.

Jeans off, sweatshirt off, flannel shirt off. Her fingers failed completely after that, so she clambered into the shower still wearing her t-shirt and underclothes. When the water hit her, Amelia couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp as every bruise across the front of her body lit up in pain.

But the water rinsed off the blood, the dirt, the memory of the demon's groping fingers on her body. She tilted her head so the water hit her face, and rinsed all the way down her body. The water around her feet turned red-brown from all the blood that trickled off her body. Again and again, she rinsed out her mouth with the warm, soothing water, finally getting rid of the last taste of blood that remained. The warmth soothed the edge off her headache and the drugs started to take affect, leaving the headache very painful, but almost bearable.

After maybe ten minutes the water ran clear, and though Amelia was still a long way from feeling clean, she turned off the water and stepped out. Her backpack had magically appeared just inside the doorway, and her fingers worked a little better now, so she stripped naked, toweled off, and pulled on a new change of clothes. She almost felt like a human again.

Her hand rested on the doorknob, ready to go out and face the music, when she noticed blood trickling from an indentation in her arm. Brow creasing, she turned back to the light and studied the wound. Something appeared to be buried in her arm.

Rooting around in her backpack, she pulled out a small knife, and proceeded to do minor surgery over the sink. After making a tiny incision, Amelia was able to ease the foreign object out.

Five seconds later, Sam crashed through the door in response to her sobbing, or laughing, he couldn't quite tell, but certainly something hysterical and disturbed.

Amelia sat on the edge of the tub, one arm cradled tight against her body, staring at a small, red object laying in her palm.

"It's a tooth," she looked like she was about to throw up. "In my arm, Sam, was in my friggin' arm. A tooth. Incisor, I think. God, I could hurl."

"Alright, then," he took the tooth from her hand and tossed it in the wastebasket, "let me get a good look at you."

He started to feel her head for the bump he knew would be there, but she jerked away.

"Don't touch me," she yelped, cowering away from him against the wall, hand raised to protect her face. "Just... don't touch me."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Amy," he said in his best soothing tone, taking a step back. "You know I'm not going to hurt you. It's me. Just me."

She took an unsteady breath, and forced her hand down, making herself settle back down on the edge of the tub. She couldn't steady the wild beating of her heart.

"I know," she said, her voice shaking, "I know, but... just, please. I can't take it, not now."

She hated the way her voice cracked as she pleaded with him.

Sam looked down at her in a sad way, but slowly nodded his head. "Alright. We should get going, then. Can you walk?"

She grabbed the handicap bar to pull herself to her feet, and walked unsteadily out of the bathroom. Dean had all her things packed up and moved out of the motel room already. He sat on the bed, head in his hands, injuries bound up but glanced up when she came out.

She saw the bruises that covered his face as he looked at her in something close to revulsion.

_Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long._

Styx echoed through her mind. And to her horror she realized that she was mumbling the words out loud.

Without a word, Dean stood and walked out the door.

"Dean's driving the Impala. Do you mind if I drive your car, so it doesn't get left here? You're entirely free to criticize my driving."

Sam was entirely selective in what he chose to comment on. Probably just concerned with getting her to Bobby's before she snapped. Nothing wrong with that, she wasn't feeling any too steady at the moment.

Recalling her previous experience with head motions, Amelia verbally told him she didn't mind, so he snagged the keys off the bedside table.

Soon, Amelia sat in the passenger seat of the Firebird, head leaned to the side so she didn't rest against the huge bump on the back of her head. After sliding the driver's seat back as far as it would go, Sam started the car, and followed Dean out of the parking lot.

"Look, Amy, I'm so sorry about what happened. I remember everything Meg said, when she was possessing me. I remember you exorcising her. How much it hurt you. You have to know that I would never hurt you."

"I know," Amelia said, for not the first time. Not a word about the fire, apparently. Saving that for later.

"I just... I keep on remembering the way you looked when I touched you, in the bathroom. I'll keep my distance, if you want-"

"It's fine," Amelia snapped, lack of sleep, supernatural roofies, and four days of trauma catching up with her. "Seriously. It's fine, Sam. It wasn't you, it was that bitch Meg, I get it. She possessed me once, too."

Sam gave her a very strange look.

Oh yea, she hadn't mentioned that before.

"First time I ran into the demons, said they tossed me down a staircase? Yep, they actually burned my tattoo off, possessed me for a bit, then forced me to drink demon blood." Amelia knew she was rambling, but she couldn't get her tongue under control. "I'll be fine," she kept talking, "you don't have to act any different-" she just bit down on her spiteful tongue.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sam finally just sighed.

"Look, you saved me from having a demon wear my skin, I'll never forget that. Now's not the time to talk about it, though. Why don't you try and get some sleep?" he sighed again, and she didn't argue with him on that one. She hadn't had a decent hour of sleep in god-knows-how-long.

After curling up as comfortably as she could with her bumps and bruises, Amelia drifted slowly off to sleep. The last image she remembered was Sam slouching in the driver's seat, hand on the wheel, staring off down the road, a thoughtful, worried expression on his face.

Sam woke her up after a few hours with a burger and a few bottles of water. She drank the water, but couldn't muster much enthusiasm as she nibbled on the burger. Apparently the demon blood took away her appetite.

She didn't wake up again until Sam turned off the highway towards Bobby's house.

Wiping drool off her lip, Amelia sat up slowly, trying to focus her eyes.

"How're you doin'?" Sam asked, looking at her.

After swallowing, trying to clear her throat, Amelia shrugged one shoulder, and grabbed another water bottle.

"Look, detoxing off the blood is going to be hell," he explained. "Fever, hallucinations, pretty standard withdrawal I guess, but the hallucinations are bad. Everyone you love lying to you."

"Awesome," Amelia whispered, letting her pounding head rest against the window.

"It shouldn't take too long, you haven't been on it for very long. Probably a day, tops."

"How'd you know so much about it?" she asked him, suddenly suspicious. "I couldn't find anything in Bobby's books."

Sam's lips pressed together. "Personal experience."

He pulled up in front of Bobby's house, and Amelia tossed the door open, slowly getting out. The sun hurt her eyes. She felt about one hundred and three years old. The porch looked a mile away.

Then Bobby walked towards her with an expression she had never seen on his face, and she somehow felt very small as her heart tap-danced in her chest.

"Ya idjit," he snapped, and then he wrapped his arms tight around her, and she could smell whiskey and grease and everything she had ever hated, and it took everything in her not to recoil.

"Ya idjit," he told her again, voice gruff.

Slowly, she raised her weak arms and grabbed on to him like she was drowning.

"I'm so sorry Bobby," she choked out into his shoulder, "I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry." It seemed so weak, but what else could she say?

"Yer gonna be alright," he patted her on the back, holding her tight. "We'll figger it out. Yer gonna be fine, Amelia."

He held her tight for half a minute, until her shaking quieted down a little. "But let's getcha sobered up, huh?"

Amelia took a quavering breath, and nodded, releasing him. They escorted her down to the panic room, bare but for the bed in the middle. Fear starting to rise in her, Amelia stepped in, hugging herself for warmth, but still shivering in sudden cold.

"Sam toll'ja what t'expect?"

"Yea, hallucinations and shit." She glanced around the bare room, and had a thought.

Amelia spun on her heel, causing the world to tip around her, but she kept her feet as she leveled her best glare at them. "You can't come in until this is over. Any of you."

Sam looked confused, and Bobby's eyes narrowed, his hand on the door.

She turned on Dean, who lurked in the background, the dark look still on his face. "Keep them out. No matter what happens. You saw me- you saw what I can do. It can be bad enough after nightmares, if I'm awake and hallucinating- I need to know I'm not going to hurt anyone. Keep. Them. Out."

Dean nodded once, and in that matter at least, Amelia trusted him entirely.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this," Sam apologized, and they stepped back. "I'm so sorry Amy."

Amelia jumped when the door swung shut with a loud crash, and the lock on the outside pushed into place.

"See ya on the other side," Bobby told her, mournfully, and then she was completely alone.

Wrapping a blanket around herself, Amelia fell into the bed and rested her weary head on the pillow. Might as well get some more sleep if she was stuck in the room. Not like she had to worry about hiding the fires anymore.

* * *

**Brief chance to catch your breath before we plunge back into it in the next chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. :)**


	27. Chapter 27

**Just as a warning, this chapter is pretty brutal, there's demon hallucinations being super creepy and mentions of past abuse.**

**MaddieLB- That is potentially the best compliment I have ever received! Thank you! :D**

**wandertogondor- Haha, yea, I set myself kind of a ridiculous pace for this story. Never again will I be posting chapters for a fan fiction every other day! I'm glad you think I've kept true to the characters, it's so hard not to stray off. **

**BrySt1- You'll like this next one! All sorts of angst and pain. :)**

**Guest- Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy this chapter, too.**

* * *

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" a horribly cheerful voice called out.

Drums pounded in Amelia's head, and she groaned as she sat up. The hallucinations had started.

Meg leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smiling.

Amelia did her best to ignore the hallucination as Meg strolled around the room, admiring the quality of the demon traps.

"Thanks for the opportunity to drop in," Meg told her. "I wouldn't be able to come normally."

Amelia starting humming Metallica, one of the habits she had picked up from Dean.

"Of course," Meg considered, "now that I'm in your sad little head, I'm everywhere you go."

"Sanitarium," Amelia sang, rather badly, but really who cared. "leave me be! Sanitarium, just leave me alone."

"I'm in your blood, too," Meg sat down next to her, leaning against Amelia's arm. "In your head, your body. You'll never be clean again, you'll always be tainted. Still bound for hell, Aim darling."

"Whisper things into my brain," Amelia clutched her head in her hands, trying to ignore the use of Paul's nickname for her, "assuring me that I'm insane."

"Appropriate choice of song," Meg laughed, patting her shoulder. "Hankering for a hit of blood yet? Granted it's only been a day, but it feels like forever, doesn't it?"

"Sanitarium, leave me be. Sanitarium, just leave me alone," Amelia whispered as the demon-hallucination stroked her back, planting kisses along her shoulder.

Her skin crawled.

"You're not real," she told herself. Again and again, once for every unwanted touch of the demon. It never made it feel less real.

After a few more minutes of tormenting her, without evoking much of a response, Meg disappeared. Amelia stood, and started to do nervous laps around the panic room, longing for a good run. Some time later, the blood still making it hard to judge time, she started to get lightheaded and sat back down on the bed, leg jiggling nervously.

A fever started not too long after that, alternating with horrible chills that left her teeth rattling. She lay unmoving on the bed, pain gnawing at every part of her body, racked with fire and ice. Sweat poured from her body, and after a while her stomach started to roll.

Slowly, weakly, she slid down to the floor next to the bucket, hunched over as pain crashed into her. After a few minutes, she started throwing up, barely making it over the bucket in time. Waves of nausea ripped into her, and she heaved again and again, with not enough time to catch a decent breath between her retching. Everything in her stomach came up, and she tasted blood in her mouth, which made her throw up again. Her head screamed in pain.

Her whole body quivered at intervals, and she couldn't stop her hands from shaking.

Wearily, she picked up one of the water bottles from underneath the bed and rinsed her mouth out, spitting into the bucket. Vomit drooled down her chin, and she wiped it away half-heartedly. After an hour of sitting on the cold floor, quivering, she finally mustered the strength to pull herself back up to the bed, where she sat, gasping from the exertion. She pulled a blanket around her dead-tired body, trying to warm up, trying to stop shaking.

She heard a grunt from across the room.

Dean stood a few yards away, arms crossed, glaring at her.

"I trusted you, you know," he snarled. "I thought, hey, she's a good kid, decent hunter, Bobby trusts her. Hell, I even thought you might be good for Sammy."

Amelia rested her aching head on her hands. "Not real," she told herself.

"Don't matter," the hallucination version of Dean spat out. "I'd say it anyways, if those bleeding hearts out there weren't so quick to gag me. You're a monster," he growled, stepping towards her, in a menacing way that somehow screamed 'Dean Winchester'. "You're close to going dark side, I saw your face when you blew Meg's head off. You liked it. You _smiled._ Even if you keep it together, you're still going to wake up some time and realized you fried someone while you were sleepin'. And chances are it's gonna be Sammy. I won't let you hurt my brother, I don't care what I have to do. You remember that."

He glared at her for another minute, then he was gone, too.

She had a blessed few seconds before, "Hey Aim," Paul bounced down beside her on the bed. "How ya doin'?"

Amelia didn't raise her eyes from the floor.

"Aw, come on, not even gonna say hello?"

She looked up at him, pain and exhaustion etched across her face.

"Why the long face? I'm here for the sleepover." His face twisted into his signature grin. "Weird place for a party, though. You live here then?"

He glanced around the room. "Funny way of showing their care, locking you up here. Not so different from the closets we used to get locked up in as kids, huh."

"Don't say that," she growled.

"Ah!" Paul punched her lightly in the shoulder. "She speaks!"

"The demon made me drink her blood, Paul," she whispered. "Locked me up in a prison for days."

"And this," he gestured to the panic room, "is different how exactly?"

"I could hurt someone," she reminded herself. It was so hard to remember with the thrumming inside her mind and the fever muddling up her brain. Not to mention freaking hallucinations playing with her thoughts.

"You have power over your life, maybe more than you ever had before. How is that a bad thing?"

"I don't have any power," she muttered. "The demons just want to use me, it's part of their plan."

"And Dean told you that, yes? The same Dean who wants to kill you. You saw his face, you know he'll do it if he gets the chance."

She tried to ignore Paul as he sat there, filling her head with doubts.

"You're not safe. I just want you to be safe. Happy. You're my sister, Aim. You've always trusted me before, trust me now."

"Just leave me alone," she finally snapped, and jumped off the bed in a sudden burst of energy. She started walking laps around the panic room again, legs quivering, every step a pained jolt through her entire body. Her whole body felt so weak.

"Aw, come on Aim," Paul wheedled, and started to follow her.

"Leave me alone!" Amelia growled, and for a few seconds she was alone in wonderful silence.

Then her father appeared, and she wished Paul would come back, even if he was just a hallucination that played with her mind.

"Demons?" her father mocked her, disdain in his voice. "Vampires? What kind of fantasy world are you living in."

Amelia swallowed, and looked away from him. The cement wall was in front of her, and clenching her teeth, she punched it, welcoming the new pain to distract her from the hallucination behind her.

"They're not doing this because they care about you. You're a monster. They're scared of what you turned into in that prison. You always were weak, just needed a little push to send you over the edge."

"Leave, me, alone," Amelia said through clenched teeth, resting her pounding head against the cool cement of the wall.

"You enjoyed killing the demons, didn't you. Blowing up their bodies. You liked the feel of their blood splattering on you. Oh if only Dean knew how close you came to blowing up Sam..."

His cruel laughter echoed off the wall. "Monster."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she screamed, and turning she let loose a firestorm that briefly covered the entire floor of the panic room in blazing flame.

When the fire burned out a few seconds later, her father was gone. Then he flickered up on the other side of the room, still laughing, still mocking her.

Screaming now, Amelia sent fireballs after him, punching the air in front of her to send them roaring after him. He flicked around the room, now here, now there, and at each step she tried to catch him with a fireball but he moved too quick.

Then he appeared right in front of her, and making one of her firebombs, she shoved it into his face.

For the moment, she had forgotten that he wasn't real, and the charge exploded in open air. The explosion blew her off her feet and she crashed into the wall behind her, arms briefly coated in flame. Her head collided with the wall yet again, and the pain in her head doubled, tripled. Each thought was agony. She screamed as the fire burned her arms and her head felt like it would split open.

Her father still stood in front of her, smiling at her pain, but his outline flickered now. The pain seemed to dull the hallucination. The fire licking at her arms died out, but the pain in her head only grew worse.

Amelia watched the bed burn in the middle of the room for a minute before she dug up enough resolve to raise her arm wearily, focusing on the flame. As the pain in her mind grew from extinguishing the flame, the image of her father grew weaker, and soon flickered away entirely. Slowly, painfully, she forced the fire out of existence, leaving the blankets smoldering and blackened. All she wanted was sleep. Her father's laughter echoed off the walls, faintly.

Using the wall for leverage, she managed to get to her feet, and she stumbled across the panic room, collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion. She pulled one of the half burned blankets around her, careful of her scorched arms.

After a few minutes her bleary, swimming head decided consciousness wasn't in her best interest.

* * *

Sam woke her up a few hours later.

"Hey, how are you doing?" he asked, softly.

She squinted at him. "Thought I told you to stay out. Therefore, I'm just going to treat you like you're not real." Amelia closed her aching eyes again.

"You've been in here for thirty six hours already. You've slept the last ten."

"Whaa?"

"Come on, let's get you out." He took her hand to help her to her feet, but instantly released it when Amelia let out a tortured scream.

"What's the matter?" he dropped to his knees in front of her as she cradled her arms against her chest, shaking in pain.

"Burned... burned my arms." Biting her lip to keep from screaming again, she untangled her arms from the blanket and held them in front of her.

Blisters and angry red burns covered almost all the skin.

"We have to get that taken care of," Sam snapped. "Can you walk?"

Amelia didn't have the will to argue with him about whether he existed outside her mind, and led the way up the stairs, Sam hovering behind her. He sat her down at the kitchen table, and sent Dean for a first aid kit while Bobby and he inspected the mess of her arms.

"Honestly," Bobby looked at her, "she should go to the hospital. Those burns are bad, and she's hit her head how many times? Probably has a helluva concussion. Dehydration too, maybe."

"Not goin'ta hozpitul," Amelia gritted through the pain in her arms.

Bobby sighed, and gave her a round of extra-strength painkillers with a long drink of water before they started the process of wrapping her arms up.

She started screaming halfway through, and by the end had almost fainted.

When they were done, Sam laid her down on the couch, where she laid in a stupor of pain and drugs.

"When are you going to ask her what the hell is going on?" Dean growled from the kitchen.

"When she ain't screamin' in pain, boy," Bobby snapped at him. "Grillin' her now'd be no better than torture."

"I don't think I could believe anything she says anyways," Dean slammed his fist down on the table. "How long has this been going on? She could have been playing us the whole time."

"Dean-" she heard Sam's pleading voice.

"No, Sam," Dean cut him off again. "I know she saved you, but that don't give her a clean slate."

"Lily flower," Amelia grunted, leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen, panting a little in exhaustion. They all stared at her. She fought to keep her voice steady. "Holy water, drop of baby's blood, salt."

"The hell?" Bobby scrunched up his face in confusion. "Could use it for an exorcism, maybe, but-"

"Truth serum," Amelia said, like it was painfully obvious. "Theoretically. Would you believe that, Dean? If Bobby proves that it works."

He swallowed, looking slightly uncomfortable as everyone zeroed in on him, and shrugged.

Bobby whipped up a batch (she didn't want to think about where he got the baby's blood from), and tried it out on Dean with Sam as interrogator. Within a few minutes, Dean started spilling his worry about the impending demon apocalypse getting back on track, in spite of the dark look in his eyes. Bobby declared that it worked perfectly.

"Just like friggin' Andy," Dean muttered as he washed the taste out of his mouth with a half-gallon of water and a swallow of whiskey. "Speakin' of Andy, maybe it don't work on demon blood kids. Sam, you try. Though you always did like sharin' and carin'."

Sam was soon spilling the details of his first kiss, to Dean's obvious delight and Sam's discomfiture.

"Alright, good 'nuff for me." Dean pushed the bowl towards Amelia. "Bottoms up."

She studied the disgusting mixture, and sighed, putting the bowl to her lips. She would have to learn how to keep her mouth closed.

The stuff tasted like perfume. Very salty, bloody perfume, but Amelia managed to choke it down without thinking about that too much. Bobby poured himself a tall glass of whiskey, and started to drink as they waited for the serum to take effect.

After a few minutes, Dean started.

"When did you find out about the demon blood?"

"That demon hunt last summer," Amelia supplied. The serum didn't have to force her to say that. Now that they knew her best bet was complete honesty and openness. "When they grabbed me, the demon, Meg I guess, tried to possess me, but I had drank a bunch of holy water so she smoked out. Then she went off on a long spiel about demons and made me drink her blood. Knocked me out after, that's when you found me."

"When did you figure out about the, uh, fire thing?"

"Pretty soon after. That day, I think."

"What all can you do?" Sam sounded genuinely curious.

"Make fire, extinguish it. A few months back I found out I can change the temperature of things."

"Hot pockets!" Dean exclaimed.

"What?" Bobby gave him a look.

"Hot pockets," Dean nodded, figuring it out in his head. "She ate cold hot pockets and didn't complain. I knew something was off. No one likes cold hot pockets. You heated them up, didn't you?"

"Yep," Amelia smiled at that one.

"Did Meg ever tell you what their plan was?"

"She said she wanted my soul," Amelia said, reluctantly. "Wanted me as a demon. Said I wasn't going to heaven with demon blood in me."

Sam gave her a very sympathetic look, but held himself back from trying to comfort her with his touch. He knew it wouldn't do her any good at the moment. "That's not true. It doesn't mean you're a monster." And with the truth serum still in his system, Amelia had to believe him.

"How many times have you drank demon blood?" Dean again.

"Just the twice. Though when they nabbed me just now Meg made me drink it pretty often. Not sure the exact number."

"You had no idea about any of this before last summer?"

She shook her head. "No. The fire didn't start until I drank the blood."

"That's what ya dream 'bout," Bobby muttered.

Amelia nodded, and even though it wasn't a question, the truth serum still prodded at her, forcing her to talk. "Meg, and the vampires, and my father some times," she couldn't close her mouth, couldn't stop the words that the serum dragged from her mouth. "He raped me once, you know," and if there had been a gun she would have blown her brains out rather than watch their expressions. "Drunk as hell, I think he thought I was my mother. Never told Paul, Paul would have killed him-"

"Amelia," Bobby barked, finally pulling out of his shocked silence, "stop. You don't have to tell us."

The serum released her, and she took a breath, closing her eyes so she didn't have to look at them. She started shaking again.

Someone punched a wall, Dean probably.

"You used fire to blow up the vampires when you saved Jo," Sam changed the topic, probably trying to avoid the imminent panic attack.

"Yea."

"That's why you had the panic attack when Ellen asked you about it. You didn't want anyone to find out."

"Yea."

"Damn, I really wanted those hex bags to work," Bobby muttered into his beard.

"Anything else important about the demons you haven't told us?" Dean asked.

Amelia thought for a few seconds. "She said the demons were in turmoil a year ago, but I think you know that. And that a lot of stuff slipped through the cracks. She said she waited a long time for this. I can't remember anything else, sorry."

No one asked her any questions for a minute, and Bobby turned to Dean.

"Satisfied?" he asked the younger hunter.

Dean didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Yeah. I believe her."

And because the serum was still in his system as well, they all relaxed.

"Why didn't you tell us, Amelia?" Bobby asked, his voice low and gruff.

"I," she stared down at her bandaged hands. "The demon warned me that Dean and Sam might kill me if they found out. I know demons lie, but I just didn't want to risk it I guess. I mean, you are hunters. I couldn't find out anything about it. You could have killed me for all I knew about it."

"Did you really think we would kill you?" Bobby sounded hurt, but it was still Bobby so it came across all growled.

"Dean maybe. You and Sam..." Amelia lowered her eyes. "No," she said, softly.

They were quiet for a minute.

"Hell of a lot to carry around," Bobby muttered, and noticed Amelia drooping. "We're done, do you want to lay down again?"

She nodded, and walked by herself to the couch, refusing any helping hand.

"Just," she tossed around a little bit, trying to get comfortable for all the bruises covering her body, "just don't startle me awake alright? I don't want to burn anyone's eyebrows off. Remember, I kind of have flamethrowers in my hands."

"We won't," Sam promised. "Get some sleep."

"Thanks," she mumbled, and laying her arms down awkwardly, drifted off.

* * *

**Kind of an emotional ride there, hope you guys enjoyed it! Just as a warning, the next chapter will be the last official one. I've written up a couple of shorter epilogue chapters to tie everything together and do some things I never got around to doing in the fanfic itself, but I need to work on them a little so I'll take some time with posting those. Thanks for coming along on the ride, see you at the last chapter! :)**


	28. Chapter 28

**So here we are at the end. Hope this ties the big things up for you. :)**

**BrySt1- What a coincidence, that's pretty much how I feel when you review! :D**

**JoBethHarvelle- I was rather proud of Dean in that chapter. :) We'll see, I need to take a break from this for a little while to concentrate on school, but I'll definitely be back! This was way too much fun to pass up. **

* * *

Ellen's yelling woke Amelia up.

Opening her eyes, Amelia watched the room spin around for a few seconds before it cleared up.

"You idiots!" Ellen had the three men backed into a corner. "She's hurting, sick, burned, and you make her drink a truth serum? Couldn't wait five minutes cuz, what, you were scared half-dead Amelia was gonna stab you in your sleep? God, you're such men!"

"I," Amelia cleared her throat. "Wuz my idea," she offered, weakly, from the couch.

Ellen glared at her. "You've clearly been around them too long. Piss poor thinkin' I'd expect from Dean. Sam, I thought you'd have a heart at least. Jo!"

Jo stepped forward.

"Keep yelling at these mouth-breathin' ass-wipe dick-thinkin' excuse for hunters."

"Sure thing, mom," Jo smiled grimly and took over.

Ellen walked over to Amelia, and knelt down by the couch.

"How're ya doin', sweetie?" Ellen gave her a sad little smile, sharp contrast to the drill sergeant yelling she had just employed.

Amelia closed her eyes. "Hurts," she admitted.

Ellen laid a soft hand on her forehead. "You still have a little fever, I think. How're your arms?"

She grimaced at the thought. "Hurt like hell."

The older woman ran her hand through Amelia's hair. "You're gonna be all right," she said, softly. "Not gonna trust those idiot men for a long while, though. Can you sit up for me?"

Supporting Amelia with a hand on her back, Ellen helped her sit up.

"D'ya feel like a shower, maybe?"

"Yes please," between the sweat, vomit, and blood Amelia felt like she was swimming in refuse.

"All right then, up you go," Ellen helped her stand, and with tiny, shuffling steps, Amelia made her way up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Jo had Dean backed into a corner in the kitchen, her eyes flashing in anger, Dean glancing about wildly for an escape. Sam and Bobby had made a run for it, disappearing until the women calmed down.

Ellen sat her down on the edge of the tub, and carefully pulled Amelia's stained sweatshirt over her head. She reached for the hem of her t-shirt, but Amelia shied away, her face coloring.

"Hun," Ellen laid a soft hand on her cheek, "I've patched up a hundred hunters, and seen more people butt-naked than a Playboy photographer. It's nothin' I ain't seen before."

Ellen slowly eased her t-shirt up, and Amelia moved her arms through one at a time, gasping at the slight pressure of the fabric against the burns.

"We'll wrap your arms up so they don't get wet," Ellen told her, and pulled out a box of saran wrap, covering her hands and arms so the bandages didn't get soaked in water.

Amelia felt like a robot with her fingers and arms virtually immobilized.

"I'll undo your jeans. You can try shimmying out of them on your own if you want me to leave."

She nodded, seizing the offer of privacy.

"Alright then," Ellen turned on the water. "Gimme a holler if you need anything."

Ellen closed the door behind her, and Amelia slowly worked her way out of her jeans, using her hands as little as possible. She managed to get out of her bra, but left her underpants. There was no way she could get out of them without her fingers.

Then she slowly stepped into the shower, keeping her tender arms away from the water. They wouldn't get wet with the plastic around them, but the pressure of the water falling on them would still hurt.

Amelia just stood there, letting the water wash away the sweat and smoke, and the smell of the panic room that still clung to her. It would take her a while before she could go back into the panic room, or stomach the smell of it. She put a blob of shampoo on her head, and managed to work it into her hair a little bit with her two least-burned, plastic-coated fingers, letting the water rinse it out. She didn't try soaping down her body, quite aside from her mangled hands, any movement of her head made the world tip around her, and she didn't want to knock herself out in the tub. Not a good way to go.

She could have stayed in the shower forever, but her legs started to shake from the exertion of standing for so long, so she nudged off the water with her knee, and carefully climbed out.

Ellen had put out a huge, fuzzy towel for her, and she wrapped herself up in its wonderful softness, sitting down on the toilet seat.

"I'm done," she called out, and Ellen soon reappeared, carrying a change of comfy clothes.

"Hope you don't mind going braless," the older woman told her. "Didn't think you would want to try tag-teaming that."

Amelia's face turned bright red, but she gave Ellen a tiny smile in spite of her embarrassment. Ellen smiled back, and helped her into the clothes, even closing her eyes so she didn't see anything.

"You need to eat somethin'," Ellen told her when Amelia was fully dressed again, in baggy warm clothes. Ellen took off the plastic around her arms.

"Yea, I guess," Amelia sighed.

That's how she ended up sitting on the edge of the bed in the spare bedroom with Jo feeding her toast and chattering quietly away about something totally random. Amelia didn't mind the noise, even if she didn't listen to the words, and tried to concentrate on not throwing up the few pieces of toast she managed to eat.

After a large glass of water and another dose of painkillers, Jo and Ellen bundled her into the bed, not giving her a chance to argue.

"Someone'll be here, in case you have a dream, or need somethin'," Ellen told her, smoothing her wet hair back from her face. "Anythin' at all."

"Night Lia," Jo smiled, "see you when you wake up."

Amelia, already half asleep, just grunted at them.

She spent the next two days in bed, feverish and sick. The other hunters changed the bandages on her arms and kept her drugged up so she didn't feel too much pain. They all took shifts at her bedside, even Dean, so night and day she was never alone.

The drugs made her dreams worse, and she could barely catch an hour of sleep before someone shook her awake because she was tossing and turning in her sleep.

Bobby would sit in the armchair set up at the foot of her bed, reading from a book and sipping whiskey for hours on end. She would watch him, sometimes when he thought she was sleeping, laying half dead with her eyes barely cracked open. He would mutter his way through ancient Latin texts, when he thought no one was paying attention, sometimes inputting very colorful Latin phrases of his own.

It sounded like home.

Ellen came in sometimes when Bobby had the watch, sitting down in the other armchair with her own ancient book. Too often to be a coincidence. They read in silence, not even acknowledging each other half of the time.

"Y'know," Amelia told Bobby one time, after a particularly strong dose of painkillers, "you should grow a pair and take Ellen on a date or somethin'."

She had grown tired of watching two potential couples in the house dancing around each other, and since Dean and Jo didn't seem to be moving anywhere in a hurry, she decided to try her luck with Ellen and Bobby. Jo and Amelia had discussed it before, Jo knew her mother needed someone else in her life besides her daughter, and Amelia thought that Bobby could use someone to soften him out a little.

"What?" Bobby squinted his eyes up at Amelia.

"Ellen and you," she mumbled. "You're both old, cranky hunters. It's perfect."

He just stared at her blankly until she fell asleep again.

Sam and Jo ended up with the worst hours, very early morning, when her nightmares were the worst. Both soon became expects on picking up the signs and waking her up in time. They were only human, though, and sometimes fell asleep only to wake up to Amelia's screams. Thankfully, Sam already had experience in trying to calm her down during a panic attack. Jo soon learned the hard way.

Dean had the afternoon, though Jo usually kept him company anyways. Amelia relished the opportunity to watch them interact, and plotted ways to bring them together. Mainly, it just seemed like they needed time. Time around each other, time to test the waters. Amelia slept, and watched, and observed.

One time when Amelia's was mostly lucid and Dean had the watch by himself, he closed his book and looked at her, clearly about to say something serious.

"What you said, about your father," he started, and Amelia glared daggers at him.

"Dean Winchester," she growled, though it came out half slurred and not very threatening, "if you ever bring that up I swear to God I will carve Justin Bieber lyrics into your car."

"Fair enough. I just wanted you to know that if you hadn't already burned his bones, I would have beat the shit out of his ghost and sent him all the way to Lucifer's cage myself." Fire smoldered in his green eyes.

"Fair enough," she echoed, eyes drifting shut.

That's as much of an apology as she ever got from him. Though as Dean apologies went, it was pretty decent. It meant he would look past the demon blood, have her back in a fight. Maybe even cared for her, in a big brother sort of way.

On the third morning, her fever broke. Ellen had woken her, and gone downstairs to grab her some breakfast. Before she returned, Amelia decided that she hated the bed and climbed out. Her legs quivered under her weight, weak from spending so much time off of them, but she kept her feet. It felt wonderful to stand, and she would have skipped into the hallway had her legs been more steady.

As it was, she shuffled out of the darkened room, squinting at the lights. She almost turned back at the stairs, but steeled herself. Her left hand had not been burnt as badly, and didn't hurt nearly as much. So she kept her left hand on the railing, and took the stairs one step at a time. By the bottom, she was gasping for air, but smiling in victory.

"Amelia!" Ellen scolded her when she wandered into the kitchen. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I've been in bed," Amelia argued. "For like the last week. I got hungry."

Ellen wanted to be mad, but she at the moment she was more concerned with getting Amelia to eat something. The girl had hardly eaten anything since the demons had kidnapped her, and she looked like a skeleton.

Amelia happily ate her way through a bowl of the obligatory chicken soup and a few pancakes she swiped when Ellen wasn't looking.

"Feel up for a shower?" Ellen asked when she finished.

"Are you telling me I smell bad?" Amelia wrinkled her nose up, and realized that she probably did smell after two days of fever. "Actually, don't answer that. Yes, I would love a shower."

They repeated the process of getting her into the shower. This time, however, Amelia felt brave enough to use the soap, and after scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, finally got herself clean to her satisfaction. She managed to half dress herself on her own, and Ellen came in to help her finish. T-shirt and jeans today, no sweat pants.

"I actually feel human again," Amelia grinned. "Think I could crash on the couch? Getting a little tired of the bedroom."

"Hun," Ellen patted her shoulder, "you have a few more Amelia's-word-is-law days built up. Whatever you want."

Amelia looked a little sheepish, but certainly didn't protest that. Soon, she curled up on the couch, laughter and talking faint in the background, accentuated by Ellen occasionally whacking a Winchester with a spoon. Bobby sat in the creaky chair at his desk, barking at them to be quiet and let him research.

Amelia's arms still hurt like hell, and she knew the demons hadn't given up even with Meg in the pit, but she couldn't help smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

The hunters were overprotective, vengeful, volatile, and obsessed. Each one had an arsenal in the trunk of their car, and wouldn't hesitate to shoot first. They had spent years of their life researching and training to figure out how to kill things better.

And they were her family. Each one would rush to rescue her or defend her, from demon, ghost, or person. They were close knit, loyal, self-sacrificing, and caring.

They had accepted her into their family. And she was home.

* * *

**I'd like to thank everyone who's read this story. Like I said way back when, this is my first fanfiction, and it has been a great, if crazy, experience. I've definitely learned a few things (the goal of putting up a new chapter every other day was a bad idea). I haven't been in the fandom for too long so I wasn't sure what to expect, but everyone has been so positive in their reviews and I haven't received a single negative comment. I've honestly been blown away by the amount of people who have read my story and told me they loved it, so thank you again. You guys are awesome. :)**

**Like I said before, I'll be putting up a couple epilogue chapters, mainly consisting of happiness and warm kittens, so be sure to check back in a few days! **


	29. Epilogue 1

**Thank you everyone for all the kind words! I never imagined this story would go so far. You guys are awesome! :) **

**At the moment though, I don't think there's going to be a sequel, sorry. These final chapters (more like one shots really) should tie most things up so it's not so hard for you guys to let go, but I think that after them it will be time to let them rest. :) Who knows, maybe I'll change my mind, but that's what it looks like now. Sorry this one is so short, I promise the other epilogues will be longer!**

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Four days later, Ellen took the bandages off of Amelia's arms and left them off to finish healing.

When they got too noisy, Bobby chased the younger ones out of the house the next day, only letting Ellen stay. Jo and Amelia shared a meaningful look as they left the house alone to the two older hunters. They had talked about it, of course. Ellen and Bobby getting together. They hadn't actually used the word dating, that was too awkward, but the two older hunters living together, being a couple. It could work, and Jo had given Amelia her blessing to work on it from Bobby's end. So they went more or less cheerfully, playing pool and poker at the local bars until early next morning. Dean beat Amelia easily, with her banged up hands. He didn't cut her any slack for her injuries and she was almost grateful, except for the part where he demolished her at pool.

Dean and Jo hustled an entire poker table out of money for the heck of it, Jo's smiles keeping them distracted long enough for Dean to shmucker them out of their bills. Sam and Amelia took it a little easier. He didn't let her drink much, since she was still healing and on a low dose of pain pills. Sam proved to be good at pool as well, though not quite as good as Dean. They played a couple games while Dean and Jo played poker, in companionable silence.

After a couple games and a couple beers, they ended up in a booth sipping their beers quietly.

"So how do you know about the blood?" she hadn't gotten a chance to corner him over the past few days and the alcohol made it easier for her to ask.

Sam studied Dean and Jo, not quite meeting her eyes. "How much do you know? About the demons. About us?"

She shook her head. "Bits and pieces. Not much really, Meg didn't say anything for sure."

He nodded, slowly. "You deserve to know, I suppose."

And, sipping their beers in a dinky little Sioux Falls bar, Amelia learned about Azazel, and angels, and demons, and Lucifer. Sam told her about Azazel's plan for the demon blood children, and how it all culminated in the demon war and Lucifer's perfect vessel. Him. She learned how Dean had sold his soul for Sam and went to hell for for his little brother. About how he had drank demon blood and learned how to exorcise demons with his mind. The angel Castiel, who had rescued Dean from hell, and had rebelled against heaven to help them upset the plan to spring Lucifer from his cage.

"Trenchcoat?" Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Awkward trenchcoat guy with the easter bunny?"

Sam laughed. "Yea, angel of the lord, believe it or not."

She had to laugh at that, but then she just studied her beer. "So all along... You had demon blood in you, too."

He smiled, sadly. "I wish you would have told us sooner, but it's all good now."

They sipped quietly for a while, the chatter of the bar washing around them.

"I remember what you did," Sam said, quietly. "I know how much it hurt, exorcising Meg like that. I was so worried for you, how far you pushed yourself. And there was so much blood-"

"Sam," Amelia warned, before the panic started to rise in her chest again and cut off her air.

"Thank you," he told her, "I know I've said it before, but I mean it. When she possessed me before, the things she did-"

Pain etched lines across his face as his eyes strayed to Jo.

Amelia's hands started to shake, and she clenched them around her bottle, trying to hide the weakness. "You'd have done the same."

Sam noticed of course, with his sharp hunter eyes. He reached over, his long arms easily making it across the table, and gently took her hands in his.

"Doesn't mean I can't thank you. I don't think I could have taken it if she had hurt someone else when she was possessing me."

He gave her what might have been the sincerest look she had ever seen. After a few seconds of awkwardness, he released her hands, which had mercifully stopped shaking.

She wiped them off on her jeans and crossed her arms in case he felt like holding hands again.

"Does it ever go away?" she changed the subject, as she watched Jo laugh over the poker game, teeth flashing brightly. "The craving?"

She hated the blood, hated the demons, but her body still craved the substance even after her demon detox. Amelia never thought she'd end up a junky, craving the heady power the blood had given her.

Sam stared at his beer. "No," he said, quietly. "Like any addiction, I suppose."

She swallowed, fingers drumming on her arm.

"It gets better the longer you go without it, though" he told her. "The longer you go without using the abilities."

"Damn shame about that," Amelia sighed. "Was handier than all hell."

Sam chuckled. "No denying that, believe me I'm the first admit it. But it's a slippery slope, you start down that path with even the best intentions and you end up cozying up to a demon just to get a hit."

She shuddered at that.

"You don't have to do it alone. We can help, if you let us."

Jo felt their eyes, from some hunter sixth sense, and glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright, smile wide as she spotted Amelia and Sam together in the booth. Dean's eyes followed Jo's, and he gave them his carefree, trademark grin. Clearly poker was going well.

"Ok," Amelia said, very, very quietly, and Sam smiled, too.


	30. Epilogue 2

The Winchesters took off a few days later when Dean's ribs had healed up. Amelia and Sam had another long conversation about the demon blood before they left. The Harvelles stayed, as there didn't seem to be any other hunts available, and Amelia didn't quite feel up to hunting yet. She was still sleeping twelve hours a day. A hunt came up a couple weeks later, but the Havelles didn't take it. Amelia started to become suspicious.

Her suspicions were confirmed a week later when a perfectly viable hunt cropped up two states over, and Ellen didn't immediately lock Jo in the panic room when she suggested she and Amelia take the case.

The girls took the Firebird, Amelia driving it for the first time since the Winchesters had brought her up to Bobby's. She sang at the top of her lungs, Jo hunched over in the passenger seat with her hands clamped tight over her ears.

"So Bobby and Ellen," Amelia mused after a while, "finally alone in the house all by themselves. Wonder what they'll do?"

"Ack," Jo plugged up her ears, not wanting to hear that either. "I know we conspired, and I'm glad it worked out, but that doesn't mean I like to hear about my mom... and Bobby... doing... yea."

"Wonder if we can get them hitched," Amelia pondered. "Now that they're 'together.'"

"God, I hope so," Jo muttered, "it's so awkward thinking about them."

They conspired further, having a few intense discussions in between researching and hunting. When they returned, Jo eventually had to lay down the law with her mother, and they planned a wedding for two months later. Jo and Amelia did the lion's share of the work.

Hunters had to be tracked down and invited to the wedding. They rented a small hall with a large amount of alcohol on tap.

Jo forced the Winchesters to be the groomsmen, Amelia and her filling the spots for the bridesmaids. Jo was maid-of-honor, of course, which made Dean best man and left Sam and Amelia together, much to Jo's delight. She had started returning Amelia's teasing big time.

The boys showed up a week before the wedding to get fitted for suits, to Dean's chagrin.

Two days after they showed up, Amelia took a break in the panic room with a thick old book on vampires. A few pages in, Jo appeared, sobbing, and slammed the door shut.

Amelia leaped from the bed as Jo came to her, shoulders heaving.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Jo collapsed onto the bed, and Amelia sat down beside her, patting her on the shoulder as her friend wept into her hands.

After a few teary minutes, Jo finally lowered her hands.

"I," her breath hitched, "I told Dean that I wouldn't wait around for him forever," her swimming eyes looked up at Amelia. "That he had to make a move, and do something or we would never be anything."

Amelia tried to comfort her friend.

"What did he say?" she had to ask.

Jo started sobbing again. "He just left! Turned around and left. Just like he always does. Stupid, stupid men!"

Amelia gathered Jo into her shoulder as she started to cry again.

Two minutes later, Dean burst in, looking desperate.

Amelia gave him a death glare as Jo raised her tear-streaked face from Amelia's shoulder.

"I don't think you-" Amelia started.

"Jo!" Dean cut her off.

"I know we've had a rocky relationship, and that's probably my fault, but I didn't want to get close to you because I don't want to lose you Jo," he was talking way too fast and it suddenly occurred to Amelia that this might be the only time she would ever see Dean Winchester scared. "But I _don't_ want to lose you Jo, and I should have done this a long time ago."

He went to one knee, and held out a silver ring on his palm. "Jo Harvelle, will you marry me? It's my mother's ring, and it's too big for you and I had it resized for my finger, so you'd have to get it resized if you actually want to-"

Jo stopped him by flinging her arms around him, and resting her still teary face on his shoulder. "Of course I will marry you, you idiot."

They stood, and Dean slid his mother's silver ring on Jo's ring finger where it jangled around loosely. Then they started kissing and Amelia quietly contained her joy as she awkwardly sat on the bed watching them kiss.

As their kissing gradually became more passionate, Amelia cleared her throat. They kept kissing. She cleared her throat a little louder. Dean's hand crept up the back of Jo's shirt.

"Congratulations!" she shouted, bouncing off the bed with a huge smile on her face.

They finally broke apart, looking a little guilty, and Amelia attacked Jo with a tight hug.

Since they already had a wedding planned, Jo and Dean just decided to get married at the same time.

This made things rather confusing for the minister, since Dean and Jo were Bobby and Ellen's best man and maid-of-honor, but Sam and Amelia were Dean and Jo's. Things were compounded further by the fact that the brides were giving each other away and literally everyone at the wedding was packing at least a few weapons.

He took revenge on them once the two couples were married by trying to marry off Amelia and Sam as well, to their embarrassment and everyone else's great amusement.

Amelia and Sam, accompanied by some of the other hunters, took great care to cover the Impala and the Chevelle with whipped cream proclaiming the newlywed's status.

The hunters partied until dawn at the hall, drunk on alcohol and happiness and dancing. Sam, being Sam, politely danced with every woman in the hall, but always came back to Amelia, since she didn't know anyone particularly well. Garth asked her to dance once, and she spent the next four minutes laughing as she tried to avoid his clumsy feet. Dean and Jo danced with each other the whole time, Dean turning out to be a surprisingly good dancer. Jo didn't ask where he learned how to dance, and he didn't say. Bobby and Ellen danced a few rounds, before they settled down to talk and sip beers for a few more hours, hand comfortably in hand.

They headed out first before the morning got too late, back to Bobby's house. They didn't plan a honeymoon, saying they were too old to go gallivanting around. The couple planned to spend a couple weeks alone in the house, working out new schedules around each other. Ellen planned to change a few things. Amelia had her doubts.

Dean and Jo headed off on their honeymoon road trip when the owners of the hall finally kicked them out. Predictably, Dean threw a fit on seeing his baby covered in whipped cream. Jo was able to calm him down.

The other hunters peeled off slowly. Some of them headed off outside of town to settle an argument about who was a better shot. Considering the amount of alcohol consumed by all, Amelia thought she would rather be as far away as possible.

Sam watched Dean drive off with a lonesome look on his face. Jo had claimed his seat in the Impala, and he was happy for his brother and new sister-in-law. But it didn't mean he couldn't mourn the changing of his entire world.

"Well," Amelia came up beside him. "Guess the parents have kicked us out of the house, huh?"

He laughed at that, and the bitter truth of the statement. Bobby's house was both their homes, but they wouldn't go back there even if they had wanted to. Not with newlywed Bobby and Ellen there. And the Impala was off God knows where. Probably best not to think about that for a while either.

"See you tomorrow," he yawned. "We'll do something fun."

"Night Sam," she waved to him, and they went to their respective hotel rooms. The whole hotel was packed with hunters, and was probably the safest place in Sioux Falls, hell maybe the whole of South Dakota.

Not a word had been spoken of Amelia's affliction with the demon blood, to her relief. She saw how some of the hunters acted differently around Sam, though they tried to hide it. For the most part, they had welcomed her. Bobby's opinion went a long way. No way she would tell them she had drank demon blood, though. So she had a single room, next to Sam's so she was within scream-range, and put down the salt line herself, placing a iron knife under her pillow before she fell asleep.

The hunters had breakfast together the next morning. Loud, in spite of their hangovers. Boisterous even. Hunters were solitary by nature, but when they got together they could certainly make a lot of noise. Amelia, after grabbing a few hours of sleep between nightmares, was a little overwhelmed. She drank a whole pot of coffee by herself, as did half of the other hunters. The waitress looked a little disappointed she couldn't charge for refills as the hunters drank their coffee faster than they could make it.

They devoured pancakes, bacon, sausage, french toast. Everything. It was like watching Dean twenty times over. She was fascinated as she chewed through her strawberry waffles. Sam sat beside her nibbling on his fruit. He had given her a sad look in the morning when she met him in the hall, dark circles under her eyes. He had heard her screaming in the night, of course. She didn't talk about it, she never did. But he sat next to her at breakfast, a familiar presence among all the newly met hunters.

The other hunters left after breakfast, never staying long in one place. Sam and Amelia stood awkwardly by the Firebird and the beater car Bobby had loaned Sam.

"So, nightmares again?"

She pressed her lips together and looked away from him. They had gotten worse since Meg. Not like she would ever admit it.

"Yea?" she challenged him to make something of it.

Sam's face teetered close to the puppy dog look. "All I want to say is, don't go running off by yourself if you're not going to sleep."

"What do you mean?" she raised an eyebrow. "Not like I can crash at Bobby's." She suppressed a shudder at the thought of Ellen and Bobby. Alone in the house.

"We could go together. I could drive, you could get some sleep. We don't have to hunt, if you don't want to. We could see New York, or go fishing in the gulf, or whatever."

"You just don't want me gallivanting off by myself," Amelia crossed her arms.

"I want you to be ok, Amy," Sam argued. "And you're not ok. Not since Meg, hell not since you burned the ghosts."

That pissed her off.

"I'm fine," she snapped, causing Sam to huff. She had to say it, even if just to save face, but she relented after that. He cared, clearly. "Fishing? What are you, fifty?"

He smiled, letting it go for the moment. "It was just a thought."

They had planned to hang out for a few days, since the rest of their family was otherwise occupied. But nothing as far as teaming up together. Now that the wedding planning was over and she could think again, though, there was no way she could leave him alone. It had been her life for what, two years? Hunting, Dean, the Impala, it had been Sam's whole life. She'd let him think he was protecting her.

They drove off a few minutes later in the Firebird, after Sam stowed his things in the trunk. She drove, not willing to relinquish control of driving quite yet. Sam barely fit in the front seat, but he didn't complain. A few hours later he finally convinced her to take a nap, and she let him drive, curling up in the still warm seat, letting the purr of the engine lull her to sleep.

She woke up somewhere in the mountains.

"Hiking?" she yawned, staring out at the trees.

He shrugged. "Figured you like running, hiking isn't that different."

"Nah, it's cool. I like hiking."

Of course they packed a few guns in their backpacks, and a makeshift flamethrower in case of a Wendigo.

They spent a few days in the woods, living off of granola bars and dried fruit. Hiking was rather nice when they didn't have to worry about tracking something down and killing it. She enjoyed the exercise after weeks of wedding planning.

They picked up a hunt after that, and a crappy motel room to research in. She kept expecting Dean to barge in, complaining about research. A look at Sam told her he felt the same way.

"Going for a run," she told him. "Need some clean air."

He barely dipped his head in response.

She didn't run, and came back with a couple six packs.

"Thought it would help with the research," she told him, plopping down across the table from him, pulling out a beer.

"Liar," he huffed, but took one anyways.

"You were moping," she explained, with an innocent smile.

"Yea," he took a long drag at the bottle. "I guess I was. I'm happy for Dean, don't get me wrong. I never thought he would actually find someone. Actually have a chance to be happy, normal. It's just..."

"Different." She suggested, and he nodded, a sad smile on his face.

They took care of the ghost without a hitch.

In Michigan a month later, the only room left after a long night's ride was a single king. Amelia had some bruises from the last hunt, and Sam flatly refused to let her sleep on the couch.

She dreamed of the prison, again.

Eternities of hanging alone. No Meg, even. Completely alone. Forever.

That was the first night she called for him.

"Sam," her voice was strangled through her tears, and he was there within two seconds, and she wasn't alone any more.

But she couldn't stop crying even as she clung to him, solid, warm, comforting.

Hours later, it seemed, she finally had herself under control again. Sam had fallen asleep a while ago, head on the pillow, arms still around her. She watched him snore for a while, his breath touching the top of her head. She tucked her arms close to her body, scared of burning him, but the bed was too comfortable, and she was too tired. Within a few minutes she fell asleep, too, her head pillowed on his arm. Her last thought that his arm under her would fall asleep and be dead by morning. She didn't have nightmares.

They always got a room with a single king after that, after Amelia insisted about five hundred times that it was ok. The closeness helped, and she didn't feel as bad for waking him up, since he didn't have to leave his own bed. Still, sometimes after her dreams she couldn't bear the touch of anyone. Sam stayed on his side of the bed, eyes sad in the darkness he watched her ride out the panic by herself. He had his own nightmares sometimes. Less screaming than hers, more thrashing. She was able to wake him up sometimes, return the favor.

One night, as the terror of the nightmares started to fade, Sam's arms around her, he gently kissed the top of her head. It was the first advance he had ever made, for all of sleeping in the same bed together for weeks. It surprised some of the fear away, at first. Then, since she didn't react, a few minutes later he kissed her again, amid the chatter of soothing words. She remembered Paul, her father. That one night when her father came to her room, drunk past thought. The memory almost made Amelia recoil at the next touch of Sam's lips. But it was Sam. She didn't have to be scared of Sam, and she tilted her head back so his next kiss landed on her lips. The thrill up her spine had nothing to do with fear.

Then, Sam moving so slowly it would have infuriated her, if he hadn't been so sweet, so very careful and considerate, they kissed, and the kissing led to something more, and Amelia didn't have any more nightmares that night either.

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**Yay! Warm fuzzies. :) Sorry if the wedding was a little rushed/out of no where for you guys. I'm trying to write these chapters more like one shots, and it's not coming across quite the way I want. But personally, I always thought that Dean and Jo are stubborn enough that if they ever did get together, it was going to be completely out of no where. But then it would be totally permanent. You can debate if they actually would end up married, I just liked the idea of having them happy.**

**Also I just can't write sex scenes, so that's the most you're going to get. Hope you are mostly satisfied. ;)**


	31. Epilogue 3

**So this will be the last official epilogue. There's one more after this, but that was written way too late at night and I don't even know what it is. You guys will probably enjoy it so I'll post it, but this is the last official one. :) More happiness! **

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A couple months after the joint wedding, Bobby and Ellen finagled Dean and Jo, and Sam and Amelia into a particularly puzzling hunt together.

"So how's married life?" Amelia could help but ask Jo, when the brothers went to interrogate a witness, and the girls found a decent motel. Two rooms, single king each. Amelia knew Jo would interrogate her about that.

"He's a cocky ass, of course. Didn't want me hunting. Fought for a week about that before he finally came around to my opinion. He's sweet, though, you wouldn't believe it." Jo smirked, then, in her trademark way. "And the sex isn't half bad, either."

"Oh, God," Amelia clamped her hands over her ears, laughing, "didn't need to know that."

"Hey, you asked," Jo nudged her in the shoulder. "So you and Sam... Single king, hmmm?" She raised a delicate eyebrow.

Amelia couldn't help but think of late nights, Sam's arms around her after a nightmare, his lips on hers, and blushed bright red right up to the roots of her hair.

"I knew it!" Jo beamed.

Amelia didn't try to lie her way out of the situation.

Sam mentioned the word relationship after the hunt, when Dean and Jo left and Amelia didn't. That left a bitter taste in her mouth, after her parents' broken, abusive marriage, and she slept on the couch for the next few nights. It hurt too much to actually label their friendship like that.

He didn't mention it again for a long time.

Slowly the nightmares faded, with time and the warm closeness of Sam. They split up driving more evenly now that she was actually getting some sleep at night, and Amelia enjoyed being behind the wheel of her now precious Firebird once more. They hunted, but only some of the time. Sam helped ground her, but she still was almost reckless as a hunter, and sometimes she could almost taste his disapproval. They fought about that. But hunting usually made the nightmares worse, and Amelia slowly, reluctantly weaned herself off of it. She drank more than her fair share, and Sam didn't like that either. But he hadn't lived his whole life with Dean for nothing. He knew how to work away at a person. Periodically they would drop in on Bobby and Ellen. No longer Singer Salvage, it was B and E's now. They were cute, in a old couple sort of way. Bickering half the time. Moving around each other comfortably, each move of one evoking a countermove of the other, like they had been together for years, not just months. Ellen made Bobby clean up a little bit, drink a little less, but not too much. Bobby gave Ellen someone else to care about in her life besides Jo, and she stopped worrying some, but not too much, as Dean and Jo hunted around the country in the Impala, big names in the hunting world. Sam and Amelia never stayed too long. It seemed almost rude to change the couple's routine when they were so obviously content. So they hunted, and found old libraries to research, and holed up in cute little towns for weeks on end, taking odd jobs and playing at living a normal life.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Six months later, Sam brought up marriage after a hunt gone bad, and the thought no longer twisted Amelia's gut up.

"I'll marry you, Sam," she smiled over at him as they lay in their hospital beds in the emergency room, and his tired, bruised face lit up in happiness.

The trauma doctors just shook their heads as they set bones and stitched wounds, their patients smiling and happy even before the morphine kicked in.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When Henry Winchester fell out of a closet a few months later, all four Winchesters jumped from their chairs, pulling their handguns on the stranger.

Predictably, the brothers gave their wives the slip to chase down Abbadon, not wanting to put the women in danger. They decapitated her, losing their grandfather in the process, but gaining a few interesting pieces of information along the way.

Amelia and Jo were beyond pissed that they had been left behind. Jo actually broke Dean's nose. They calmed down a little when the Winchesters discovered the bunker, but not much.

The brothers spent a week apart from their wives, as the girls had a long slumber party and explored the bunker, cleaning decades old dust, stocking the fridge, organizing their rooms.

Jo hung up fifty different weapons on the walls of the room she chose for her and Dean. Sawed offs, machetes, handguns, knives, a couple machine guns they had picked up somewhere, swords from the bunker. Speakers in the corner. A closet full of flannel, jeans, and leather jackets. Hunter's journal on the bedside table. A liquor cabinet in the corner. Protection sigils for decoration.

Down the hall, Amelia filled their room up with books, predictably. Bookshelves and bookshelves filled with the tomes they had collected and lifted and gleaned from the shelves of the bunker. She was happy to have them out of the crowded trunk of the Firebird. A huge squashy leather couch, long enough for even Sam to lay down on. A king sized bed with a glorious comforter. Reading lamps. A few artifacts placed around artistically. She had never nested before, even in the panic room at Bobby's, and she found she actually didn't mind being domestic.

They didn't let their husbands in until everything was perfect. And since the brothers really hadn't seen their wives in a week, they didn't leave their new rooms until everything was a little more perfect.

Now that everything was made up, Amelia and Sam buried themselves in the archives. They would sit next to each other at the tables, each entirely consumed in the books, reading about anything and everything. Between the two of them, they sometimes remembered to eat more than one meal a day.

They found priceless information, long forgotten knowledge that would give hunters an edge over the supernatural. Centuries old books in the archives that Amelia and Sam would crowd over, translating them together, not able to wait their turn, eyes bright as they uncovered the secrets the Men of Letters had held for so long. A complete one-eighty from Amelia's first introduction to hunting. She was totally fine leaving the hunting up to Dean and Jo. The nightmares were bad enough already, and she couldn't take too many more concussions. The information they discovered was helping people and saving lives, couldn't get much better than that. And of course Sam loved it. She found the section of the men of letter's personal journals one night, and brought him the journals of the Winchesters back three hundred years. He kissed her for that, and ended up not reading them until a little later. What kind of guy got turned on by dusty old books?

Jo and Dean couldn't sit still for that long, though, and went off on a hunt a week later, starting a new routine. For the most part, Jo and Dean took the hunts, and Amelia and Sam did the research. Bobby and Ellen dropped in every so often. Bobby appreciated the huge collection of information, and they would have research contests: picking a certain element of the supernatural and seeing who could find the most new information about it in the dusty archives. Dean just shook his head at them, crowded around an ancient book arguing vehemently about the translation of a single word. Geeks all of them. Ellen just liked that everyone was under the same roof, safe and happy. Dean and Jo appreciated having the bunker to come back to after hunts, a home base to rest, laugh: live. The Impala and the Firebird looked nice next to each other in the garage.

Everyone still had nightmares after years of injuries and PTSD. Dean still drank a little too much. He and Jo argued passionately some times. Usually they made up just as passionately, causing Sam and Amelia to retreat to the depths of the bunker. Amelia would occasionally light their sheets on fire in the middle of the night, and then even Sam couldn't reach her for a few days as she retreated into herself, drinking and moping around at the reminder of how dangerous she could be to those she loved. Dean of all people could shock her out of it, taking her bottle away almost violently, silently standing through the angry, half-drunk abuse she slung at him until she calmed down and let Sam close to her again.

The bunker was a refuge, a real, solid place that was always there for them to return to, always there to welcome them. Something that none of them really ever had.

A home.

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**Thanks for sticking around everyone, see you in the last chapter! :)**


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